This is a photo of a brand new eating establishment in my neighborhood. It is called “Munch Box.” I’m sure the south Asian family who operates it has high hopes that this “one stop munching spot” will be their key to the American dream. When these proprietors were deciding on a name for their venture (with their limited command of American English and its colorful nuances), I imagine they thought “Munch Box! This will be a play on ‘lunch box’ that will let people know that we have delicious food to enjoy!” I will only assume they they had no idea they were naming their family business after the act of orally stimulating a vagina.

You’d think someone would give them a heads up. A loan officer, someone who works at the health department, one of their food distributors, or even the guy who made the awning for them. I’m wondering if I should somehow warn them about what they’re doing. I can’t even begin to imagine how that real-life Curb Your Enthusiasm scenario would play out. Maybe I should just slip an anonymous detailed  note under their door?

But, on the other hand, I kind of enjoy the fact that Munch Box is in my neighborhood. Even if the food is horrible, it is already the perfect place to bring out-of-town guests, guaranteed to tickle and delight their inner eight grader. Who wouldn’t want to update their Facebook with “so, I just went to Munch Box in Brooklyn” or “I feel a little gnarly after I went to Munch Box,” or even “nothing is as invigorating as the early morning walk on the way to Munch Box.”

I really, really want to be the Mayor of Munch Box.

So, I wish you the best of luck, Munch Box. I hope you give the neighborhood years of warm munching experiences within the confines of your box.

[UPDATE: Even though it hasn't even opened yet, I am now officially the Mayor of Munch Box.]