Attack of the Tupperwarewolves

So I'm innocently trying to make my way into my house yesterday when a group of chattering women partying next door beckon me over. It all seemed innocent enough - one of those impromptu Belgian street parties that I'm now accustomed to - until I noticed the centerpiece that all their chairs were arranged around: A table piled with useful looking plastic containers. It was a Tupperware party!



Tupperware used to be one of those things that I thought was stuck in the Dark Ages. Old people had Tupperware. And they were constantly tapping their Tupperware Jello-molds and saying, "This is an investment"". I silently vowed that I would never to be that old. Tupperware was for people who knit and played bridge and had long conversations about what everyone on Days of Our Lives was doing. It was 1950s Housewife Kitsch. I guess I had a latent fear that if I ever started buying the stuff I'd turn into some sort of freak called Ethel who spent all day making pies and crocheting little jackets for my poodle.



Yes the stuff is practical and it keeps your lettuce nice and crisp, but I've got an image to maintain! I'm an artist! I'm hip! I have interesting hair! I can't be seen around this sort of stuff. But apparently this stuff is all the rage again.

Who knew?

Groups of ladies are having Tupperware parties everywhere and getting drunk and buying things that future civilizations will find millions of years from now in our landfills. I took a closer look at the little gathering outside my neighbor's house. Instead of being all housewifey and boring, this Tupperware happening was cool and trendy. They lured me over with a glass of wine, and even as I sat there feigning adolescent belligerence they were handing me practical pieces of plastic to fondle. I was won over in a matter of minutes.

Wim and some of the other husbands were down the street at a normal quadrant of the street party shaking their heads and glancing over at us with frightened helpless eyes like they'd lost us to crystal meth. Meanwhile I was chillin' with my new friends. We were leafing through the Tupperware catalogue like it was porn, lusting over the stackable salad bowls or jealously eyeing whoever pointed to an item and said they had that at home. We were like a rabid pack of wolves, ready to contain the whole world in plastic and conserve it with an air-tight lid.



And now I'm grappling with what it all means. Is Tupperware really cool now? Or am I so old that I only think it's cool? Have I crossed the line into another perspective where I'm going to start buying sensible shoes and telling everyone to turn their music down? If I buy these pieces of Tupperware today is it just the first step in a descending spiral towards turning into my mother? Who am I??!!!!



Before I knew what was happening I had ordered a ravioli maker. Someone handed it to me and I couldn't stop turning it around in my hands and admiring it. It was just so fabulous looking. What the hell. I'm not made of stone.



And the minute I said I was buying it I got instant acceptance. Like I was one of them now. My new Tupperware gang were all smiling at me like I'd passed an initiation. I felt cool. So cool that I decided to take it to the next level and have agreed to host my own Tupperware party in a few months. You wouldn't believe how popular that made me with my new friends.

I'm a Tupperware Lady now. And that's a bad ass thing to be.
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