The Tupperware World

I have a tiny tale of a morning’s adventure to recount, one you ought to ooze with envy over. I attended a Tupperware Party! Yes, one of those gatherings where women sit and sip tea and coffee, munch on bikkies and worship the bits of plastic that burp, and sift, and will save leftovers in mint condition until you can’t recall their meal of origin. You turn away? Tupperware has no cachet, you say? You must be one of the unitiated.

I arrived, wearing a sheepish grin, a novice at the trade, not knowing what to say.

The Tupperware lady said, “My aunt went shopping in Paris.”

We cried out, a Greek chorus of housewives, “Did she? What did she buy?”

The Tupperware lady said, “A toothbrush.”

So we all pretended to brush our teeth.

The Tupperware lady said, “My aunt went shopping in Paris.”

The deferential chorus replied, “Did she? What did she buy?”

The Tupperware lady said, “A hairbrush.”

So we brushed our hair while we brushed our teeth.

The Tupperware lady said, “My aunt went shopping in Paris.”

And we, the ever so dutiful, obedient Greek chorus of housewives, called, “Did she? What did she buy?”

Our Tupperware lady answered, “A figure reduction machine.”

So we proceeded to brush our teeth, and our hair, and wiggled bottoms caught mercilessly in the hypothetical figure reduction machine. Oh the mirthful housewife giggles escaping Avon painted lips! That was the end of that game. At this moment I still do not grasp it’s purpose, but then, I am new at this.

We played another, a word game, but I was excluded as it involved drawing a square, and then dividing it into 4 equal parts. I divided mine from end to end and thus had 4 triangles to play with, when what we needed was four squares. Was I spared? Or did I miss out? I shall never know.

Oh the plastics gleamed and burped, performed amazing feats of storage capability unknown to any but those who partake in these rituals. And when it was over we chatted of child rearing, and who is moving, and who is getting a new car, and how the dust from the new room construction befouls the living room rug.

It was all so very nice. We never once brought up anything so unpleasant as the state of the world, nor what we wanted out of life, nor dreams nor losses, nor creativity. No, we were separate from difficulty.

We were safe in Tupperware perfection, where pantries glistened, tidy ordered rows of designer colored Tupperware containers filled with spices and cereals and every variety of pasta; where hubby’s tools no longer need be strewn about willy nilly, but carefully ordered, aligned in Tupperware receptacles; and where our children need not ever spill juice carelessly upon the carpet, not when Tupperware engineers have produced a viable alternative.

Yes, there I was, part of the club, the neighbourhood clique, part of the total, eternal Tupperware happiness machine.

My place, next week. Be there!