I’m tired of Tupperware

I am so very tired of so many things on Day 140 of Covid life in LA.

-The pool of sweat that lands between my bottom lip and upper chin after five minutes of walking in my mask.

-The way you have to hold a smile while you’re signing off from Zoom so you don’t look weird.

-My house.

But I am most tired of Tupperware.

Because of cooking + quarantine + constant take-out, I now interact with Tupperware - on average - 16 times a day. (That’s a real number. I counted every day for four days then divided by four because that’s how you find an average and also I’ve lost it.)

Tupperware. How could anything with a name that dumb end up becoming so important? (I know, but I don’t want to think about him today so I’m moving on).

Do you know that it was invented in 1948 by Earl Tupper? Earl Tupper. Two dumb words. It’s like Kleenex. Another stupid word that came to own the category. Not that I want to say facial tissue or plastic food container, but I want to say Tupperware less. Would a different name make me hate it less right now? Holds Its! Savers! Fups! (food cups).

No.

Have you noticed that Tupperware never dries? Leave it on your drying rack for a week and it will still have a wet spot. Wipe it over and over and over again with your dish towel and it will still be damp. Go get one right now. Make it one of the stacking kind that you ravage-bought at Target when this whole thing started. Unstack to the bottom most Tupp and behold: a tiny bead of water.

Or dirt.

When a vessel is miraculously void of moisture it’s dirty. There are water spots. Or grease marks. Or weird streaks of fossilized tomato sauce. I once tried to bleach a quart-sized Won Ton soup container (I’m from Jersey) to get the turmeric stains out. The turmeric laughed; the bleach cried.

And now - to go full Seinfeld on this - where are all the fucking tops? At the beginning of Covid I painstakingly matched up all my sets. (This was back when I thought that creating a sense of order in the house would make everything better. Hahaha!) Yesterday I attempted this exercise again because I needed something to warrant drinking outside of my Thurs-Sun schedule. Six Tupp bottoms were missing Tupp tops. No one has been inside our kitchen since March 8th so I can only assume we live among those tiny elves that used to help shoemakers but now steal Tupp tops to use as - I don’t know - swimming pools?

That or I threw them out.

At this point I frequently throw out perfectly good Tupperware instead of cleaning it. I’m not proud of this fact, but I’m less proud of other facts like the one where yesterday I spread butter with my fingers because I felt it was more proper to lick a finger than a knife. I think I’m right, but still wrong.

I toss it, obviously, because I’m tired of washing it. As you - maybe? - know, all Tupperware must be hand washed because you get cancer if you put it in the dishwasher. This is according to my Dad who got cancer, so I’m going with it. Same applies to putting Tupperware in the microwave, which is why I recently spent 5K on glass versions of every plastic shape I own. This solves the dishwasher/microwave problem but is negated by the fact that it fits even more horrifically into my Tupper and glassware cabinet. The next time I shop for a house my sole criteria will be does this house offer the world’s best place to store Tupperware. I believe the answer is Mary Poppin’s purse, but it’s hard to imagine working that into good kitchen decor.

Which is why I’ve slowly transitioned from the Tupp to its slightly less annoying storage sibling: the Ziploc bag.

The Ziploc bag is superior in that it is:

-Not invented by a man named Earl Zip

-Can’t even pretend to go in the microwave or dishwasher

-Stacks in the fridge in the way that does not cause one to tumble out every single time you open the door

-Is easier to throw away without your husband knowing. Yes, my husband likes to wash and save Ziploc bags like we’re living in the Depression, which we are, but if it’s my entire wealth or washing and drying thin plastic bags, I pick destitution, or divorce.

Alas, this is not all that I have to say about the Tupperware..or the Ziploc..or that butter situation a few paragraphs back.

But there comes a point in the writing of every pandemic-related essay where hearing yourself go on and on and on about the annoying thing becomes more annoying than the thing itself.

Which I think - according to some famous philosopher? - means the Tupperware is now me…