when we were young?

23 08 2010

Does anyone else remember the Tupperware party?  Or more specifically, does anyone else remember laying on your stomach under a chair and watching your older female family members and their friends having Tupperware parties when you were 5?

I remember these parties.  I remember the miniature mixing bowl with lid key chains that were part of the gifts to people who attended the party.  I remember the lady who came over to host the party, and how she wore too much perfume.

Mostly, though, it’s the Tupperware itself.  Part of the institution of my childhood.  How you could open any cupboard in my grandmother’s kitchen and find something made by Tupperware.  Then the sense of community years later when we all laughed at the joke about “Dead Sea Tupperware” in Disney’s Aladdin.

I have never been invited to a Tupperware party.  My mother hasn’t hosted one since I was 6.  I’d almost forgotten about Tupperware because I haven’t seen anything new in years, and all I ever bought for myself was the cheap Glad stuff that you don’t cry about when people forget to bring it back.

Today I organized our cupboards.  I discovered that we have a little Tupperware.  Though apparently less than we used to have because of people not bringing it back.  I’ve instituted a strict policy for any future events where there are leftovers handed out.  We’re only giving out the Glad stuff.

This is because of one dish, which led me on a journey to the Tupperware website.  I want to own a lot of Tupperware now.  I strongly believe that it’s in the ovaries, or my uterus, or my genetic code to want Tupperware.  But there are two obstacles to my dream.

1) I’m afraid to.  Because of the dish.

The dish in question is a microwave steam bowl set, the hard plastic kind.  The kind that used to work so well it was almost magical.  Until someone put the lid on to a hot stove eye.  Now it’s the kind of dish that has a nice swirly pattern melted in to the top.  Part of the lid has caved in and cracked.  The dish is useless as a steamer, no more mystically perfect vegetables.  The bottom of the dish has also, clearly, been too close to the heat on a couple of other occasions judging by the warped bubbles on its side.  I’m fairly certain none of this is covered by warranty because I’m going to hazard to guess that testing out hot the stove is doesn’t fall under the parameters of “normal use”.

Which brings us to the second obstacle.

2) Chris doesn’t have enough spare parts.

After spending 45 minutes drooling about the containers and storage sets that would make my life complete I spent another 20 minutes trying to sort out which organs Chris doesn’t really need so that I can sell them on the black market so I can afford some Tupperware.  Even to replace the sad shell of a formerly glorious dish would cost about $120.  I won’t bother trying to figure out how much of the equity on our house I could sink in to buying everything else.

Ultimately this has led me to the following conclusion: Glad might not be Tupperware, but I can buy it in at least 4 different colours, a multitude of sizes, and best of all: I’m never going to cry about it.




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