An Anti Ode to Tupperware

Flickr Creative Commons – Planetutopia

Recently the Monday online writing sprint group I love to participate in decided to have a writing  challenge about Tupperware. We’d been discussing the directions of our posts within the group, and I quipped “as long as no one tries to sell me tupperware or linen here I’ll be happy.”

It was amazing to find some of us love it and some of us just hate it. Apologies to Tupperware, but I have a few issues with you, and as I wrote this piece I realised it wasn’t so much you as tupperware but what you had become associated with.

I wonder what my readers think about Tupperware. I might ask more of the sprint group if they might share their odes here. See we found out not all of us hate Tupperware, why some of us just love it and even give it away as family heirlooms.  As for me here is my take on Tupperware.

An  Anti Ode to Tupperware

Tupperware, oh why do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.

I hate you for the memories you conjure of rejection and loss. My soul remembers mother’s tears have flown when friends are far and few between.

You live at empty parties full of heartless faces surrounded with little boxes with little lids for little hearts who count each person through the door for the next box they will obtain.

Whilst others naively think at these parties some lifelong friends they might actually find.

I hate you for cost and payment transactions of neighbourhood where there must be something in it for the host; for making friends numbers on a tally board to the achievement of freebies and the façade of social lives where women gather and chatter.

Yet you come in many colours, shapes and sizes, and seal so well and tight, you keep everything fresh and ready for the morning school time runs.

Is it unfair for me to blame you so?

You are so handy for so many and yet you will always have the taint of small minded mothers and their children who used my own mother so.

Tupperware, can I forgive you? Not easily I am afraid, because you are a frequent invitation in a small town where people reach out using you like my mother once did.

Why not simply shop at the bargain store bin, with friends all in a row, stop for hot chocolate and lates? Why seek to make some income from those you call your friends?

Why not have conversations where transactions are nowhere to be seen? Why not have human interaction to understand each other’s dreams?

Tupperware’s my scapegoat, I know it to be so, but there is just no way for me to say I love thee, let me count the ways.