My friend and blogging partner Anita just posted a loving ode to Tupperware and it has me seriously concerned for her health and sanity.
In thirty-eight years over my two marriages, and in my mother's home before them, I have had a love/hate affair with Tupperware.
Tupperware is a cook's blessing until wild-eyed, greedy dreams of organizational nirvana overtake breathless You.
Now you have too much of this wondrous thing which merely jams beyond stacking in one cabinet closest to the ground.
Fat and feeble, weary from the evening's wine and culinary chores, as you lie on the floor groping into the nether-reaches of darkened cupboard for the the proper size plastic container while praying beyond hope to find its mated lid, the damned pieces begin literally leaping out of the shelf at you, snapping at your eyes and nose like a demented chihuahua, snarling in derision!
You'll never get them back in their places. You know that's true.
For salvation you turn to the Saran-Wrap in the pantry and vow you will never go near the plastic cupboard of the damned again.
Never, at least, until it beckons you with demonic insistence.
Tupperware is the very essence of Biblical temptation. A little of it is a blessing. When you start to get greedy it is a curse that never leaves you in peace.