About once a week my wife and I discuss the case of the missing Tupperware. Some people can never find their socks and blame the dryer. Some people can never find a wooden stake when a vampire comes knocking. Some people can never find their medication, because I’ve hidden it. My wife and I can never find our Tupperware.
Every other month we add Tupperware to the shopping list. We buy eight new containers and in a month they all seem to be missing. We also keep all the plastic containers every time we order Indian food delivery. But still the Tupperware disappears faster than we can restock it. Where does the Tupperware go?
When my wife and I budget each month and discuss what expenses we can eliminate to to save more money, solving the Tupperware mystery is always high on the list:
Napkins: Even though the kids use them to wipe their faces at the table, they then wipe the napkins on their sleeves. Let’s save money by cutting out the middleman.
Vegetables: When are we going to learn that buying vegetables is not the same as eating vegetables. Why do we keep filling our crisper with good intentions?
Dentists: Why were we getting their teeth checked when those teeth just ended up falling out anyway?
Tupperware: We’re going to need one giant locking Tupperware container to preserve all the Tupperware that keeps disappearing.
The kids returned to school this morning after a long Christmas vacation and we repeated the same morning routine: I made them breakfast, then prepared lunches, then I asked them to name reasons their dad was better than their friends’ dads, then I fruitlessly searched for a container to put the lunches in as I complained, “Where is all the Tupperware?”
More than once I’ve resorted to forcing sandwiches into those tiny containers that couldn’t seat a hard-boiled egg comfortably. I realize the kids will have some trouble getting the sandwich back out, so when I hand the container over I always remind them, “Just give the bottom of the Tupperware a couple hard smacks and that sandwich should pop right out.”
I didn’t feel too bad about the smushed sandwiches because I always suspected the disappearance was the children’s fault. Today The Fonz’s teacher invited my wife to look in The Fonz’s cubby hole where she found twelve sets of fuzzy Tupperware.
The Fonz and I shared the following dialogue when my wife showed me the stack of moldy plastic containers.
Remember this morning when I complained about all the missing Tupperware?
Why didn’t you say anything?
Do you remember every morning for months I’ve asked why all the Tupperware keeps disappearing, and asked you two boys if you knew where it was? Why didn’t you say anything?
Did you know where the Tupperware was?
Why didn’t you say where it was or at least bring it home?
We gave him the choice of one of the following punishments:
Sleep in a Tupperware bed for the rest of his life, thus preserving him in his seven-year-old state indefinitely.
Start eating school lunch and its pizza sauce made from ketchup.
Since he had twelve meals worth of containers he should go without food for the next twelve meals.
He must whittle new smaller Tupperware out of the existing Tupperware.
He must Tupper-wear the Tupperware to school for the rest of the year.
Clean the Tupperware.
We assumed he’d automatically pick the last option but he keeps asking us to reread him the list before he decides.
One more day to submit captions in the caption contest.