Everything is Tupper

Last week I come back from work a bit earlier (“Surprise, honey!”) And what do I find?
A group of mid-thirties squatted in my living room, unfortunately all dressed, my lady-of-the-middle in their midst, and they pulled a semicircle around a thirty-five-year-old girl who has a basket of plastic items next to her.

Each of the ladies has a coffee cup of our best dishes in front of him, to Salzstängelchen and feed my sweets and have my onset a frightened-tormented expression.
Until my wife finds the words first:
“Hello darling, this is Mrs. Mesenkamp (she points to the lady with the plastic parts), today we are doing our” Tupper “party.”

Ah yes. Party. Without me. Tupper. Understand.
“Hello, Mrs. Mesenkamp.” I smile at the somewhat embarrassed lady.
“Nice to meet you, may I sit down?”

All the girls open their mouths to say “no”, but I’m faster and sitting at the table before any of the chickens present can react.

“Let’s go!” I encourage Mrs. Mesenkamp.
She has an embarrassed expression, smiles shyly, and gives each of the house clerks present a plastic bowl with a lid.
I also get one and put it down to myself.
“That’s for keeping food fresh.” explains Ms. Mesenkamp at the issue.
“Everything you fill in there will be hermetically sealed when you press the lid.

“Oh, ahja” echoed the ladies’ wars and makes the covers on the bowls and in no time the air is filled with popping noises, as the chicken salad-empty plastic particles are closed and reopened, closed again and opened again.

I leave my chicken salad bowl and drum around on the lid. The seating group, however, can not open and close enough of the bowl.
“Practical,” says my wife.
“Ohja,” Mrs. Mesenkamp assures her.
“Tupperware is the first company to develop this airtight seal and is still the market leader in the segment today.”
Well, so far I have not found in any stock market magazine quotations to the segment “airtight food storage plastic bowls”, but I do not want to contradict Mrs. Mesenkamp.

“Look, darling,” cheers my wife “practically, right?”.

“You can also give your husband food in the office.” Mrs. Mesenkamp, ​​who probably knows what’s coming now …… as a precaution, she adds “My husband always does that” ……
“You can play drums on it well,” I sardonically grin “but the day you bring me a week old chicken salad to the office will be the day of our divorce.”

I turn to Mrs. Mesenkamp: “
Poppen with covers has stopped. The ladies look at me partly questioningly, partly hostile. Ask price questions. With such a top product. How can I ……
Mrs. Mesenkamp, ​​who evaluates my question by mistake as a buy signal, shines at me like a Christmas tree: “If you buy 10 pieces, a bowl costs just 2 euros ….”

How? 2 euros, so I do not get diarrhea from a week old chicken salad?
I weigh the lurking waiting Mesenkamp in safety:
“How much does a bowl cost if I take you 20 pieces?”
“Oh” says the Mesenkamp, ​​”I have to look” ….
“Do that”.

And while the Mistress of the bowls rummages for her discount list, the Mammis stare at her hostess with a mixture of malice and contempt.
20 bowls.
My wife glares at me angrily and steps under the table to my shin. But now there is no turning back.

“Well, sweetheart, as often as I have to eat leftovers ….”
Behind, the mother of my son’s best friend chuckles and my wife changes her face color.

“Eineurofünfundsiebzich”, Mrs. Mesenkamp beeps from the circle center, but now it is no longer about the price.
Now it’s about the prestige of my life partner as a faithful wife.

“When did you ever have to eat leftovers ….?” she hisses.
“When have we ever had chicken salad, you can not do any,” I defiantly return and decide to escalate the situation further – with the sentence that every wife hates most about “I have to confess to you”:
“My mother, who was able to make chicken salad, was always great.”

“Are you saying that you do not like my food?”
Renewed facial color change.
“Well, you can not do much wrong with canned ravioli,” I suggest.
General, restrained giggling in the round.

Only Mrs. Mesenkamp is silent and thinks about how she could defuse the situation and still bring her potty to husband and wife.
But it takes too long!

“My dear man”, the cutting voice means the opposite of “dear man”,
“I toil from morning to night and make every meal fresh and you know that too!”
“Then why do you want to buy teapot pots to keep fresh? You contradict yourself, do not you notice that?” Mrs. Mesenkamp is curious to see where this leads.
Nothing with potty sale in the women’s round.
After all, no one wants to come out as a rest-giver.
She starts one last try with “you can also mix cake dough in the bowls”, but I block with “my wife can do only one less good than chicken salad that’s cake baking.”

That’s it. My wife jumps up, howls,

In the embarrassing silence, the present ladies, who now consider me the biggest chauvin pig in the world, return their potty, Mrs Mesenkamp, ​​who suddenly sails her junk like a squirrel, everything says goodbye to me, more or less mumbling, because everyone is still gaaaanz have important dates, pull in the way to the door and off they are, Mrs. Mesenkamp and her party girls.

And I pat my shoulder.
Nothing bought at Tupper