So Beth called and was all, “So, um, do you want to come to a tupperware party with me?”
And I was all, “Um, Beth, you just said, ‘tupperware party.'”
And she was all, “Um, yah, I know, but there’s going to be wine there.”
And I was all, “Come pick me up!”
So we went to a tupperware party. Willingly. Under the influence of no drugs. And our excuses are as follows: 1) Dave, Beth’s husband who always ends up with half of his meal on his face and who owned half cow print, half acid wash shorts in college, said he wanted her to pick up an orange peeler. 2) There was going to be free alcohol that would be free and would be given to me free. 3) There was BOUND to be something to write about and post to the Internet.
Are we excused?
We showed up fashionably late, because isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Don’t they teach that in some etiquette book for housewives that I was supposed to read when I got married and signed away my independent thinking? Well, the ladies at the tupperware party HAVEN’T EVER READ THAT BOOK, because they were all there on time, and looking SNAZZY as hell. All of their husbands should be ashamed. ASHAMED!
We took our seats next to two of the oldest women I have ever seen alive and breathing without the aid of machinery. One was dressed head to toe in a red sweatsuit, the other was dressed head to toe in a purple sweatsuit, and BOTH of them had on white tennis shoes. We obviously didn’t get the memo because I wasn’t wearing a single thing that matched, and Beth didn’t even have on tennis shoes. I had on white tennis shoes but not the kind that are so white you could use them as a mirror to reapply your lipstick.
The Tupperware Lady was very busy attending to the old ladies because one of them was wielding a ruler and that only means one thing: they were there
TO MASTURBATE TO BUY. And they had all these questions about lids and burping the lids? and will they keep out the weevils? HUH? HUH? WILL THEY?
Except it sounded more like, “WILL THEY KEEP OUT THE WEEVILS?” as if she were trying to talk to someone in Wisconsin without the aid of a telephone. Perhaps she was just trying to let us all know how important it is for the tupperware to keep out the weevils, cuz you know bout them weevils, dontchya? I don’t either, but after last night I AM SO GOING TO FIND OUT.
Halfway into the presentation of the new tupperware pop-up bowl technology, The Biggest Breakthrough in Food Storage this Millennium, I kid you not, Beth turned to me, held up her brochure as if waving a flag to say, “HEY, I’M ABOUT TO TELL YOU A SECRET,” and then whispered, “Does this look too obvious that what I’m about to say shouldn’t be heard by anyone but you?” And since I had already plowed through one glass of wine I said, “No, it just looks like you’re holding up that brochure to tell me a secret. Proceed.”
Right about that time the old lady in the purple suit yelled out, “If it ain’t microwavable, THEN FORGET EM.” And I don’t know if she was having some sort of acid flashback or sudden memory of war, but I thought maybe she had beat Beth to the secret. The pop-up bowls AREN’T MICROWAVABLE. Like, at all. And what the hell is a tupperware container worth if you can’t toss a leftover into the microwave because you’re too hungover or stoned to operate the oven? IT HAS NO WORTH.
And that’s when Beth turned to me and said very audibly, behind no brochure, even loud enough for the lady wearing the gray sweater set to hear, “I think this is teaching me that I am definitely more of a Rubbermaid person.”
We stayed for a whole half hour, a half hour spent furiously jotting down notes and searching, searching, searching for that damn orange peeler, for Beth’s husband, Dave. We scoured the brochure looking for the thing, and couldn’t find anything resembling an orange or its peeler. We did find out that the sealers, the lids to the tupperware containers, they come in various sealer color choices, so you can like CHOOSE the color of the lid. Technology is SO amazing.
On our way out the door the Tupperware Lady called after us, and I thought of just making a run for it since I didn’t even LOOK like I was going to buy anything, and I thought maybe she had seen me taking notes and what would I say if she had found out that I had written down, “FIND OUT ABOUT THE WEEVILS.” But we hesitated, and that’s when she said, “You can’t leave without your orange peeler.”
Our orange peelers? You mean they give them to you for free? You mean I get free booze and a free orange peeler? The first thought I had was, “You can just kill me now because everything I ever wanted to accomplish in this life has been done, as ‘Attaining free orange peeler’ can now be marked off the list.” The second thought I had was, “Why does a heterosexual 32-yr-old man know more about the perks of tupperware parties than two housewives?” And then I remembered the half cow print, half acid wash shorts and IT ALL MADE SENSE.
(The secret Beth was going to tell me before she was so rudely interrupted by the Purple People Eater was that there was a lesbian in the room! A real live one, in Salt Lake City, among the Mormons! And I bet if ANY of those women there knew about it, they’d have felt the sanctity of their marriage dissolving RIGHT THEN.)