Tupperware.

It may not have been an accident that I was born one year after Earl Tupper patented the storage design that would later be known as Tupperware[tm].   I say this because Mr Tupper’s infernal invention has been my personal plasticized Iago, a sinister presence ever-ready to question my amateurish handling of leftovers.  By the way, am I the only person who wishes that Earl Tupper was actually called The Earl of Tupper, a position formally held by the Duke of Styrofoam and a loyal subject to the Baroness of PVC?  Yet another opportunity wasted.

Anyway, I believe I own all the Tupperware that currently exists on the planet.  I say this because all of the horizontal surfaces in our house have at least one piece of Tupperware on them, and in many cases contain multiple instances of bowls cleverly concealed INSIDE ONE ANOTHER, like some hellish mockery of those Russian nesting dolls. 

Now, I know some of you feel that you yourself have Tupperware in your home or place of work, but this is clearly the result of a clerical error at the vast and secretive Tupperware complex located deep in the Carpathian Mountains.  Regardless, the Tupperware is mine.

At this time, I would like to suggest a major revision to the concept of the Tupperware Party and its ill-fated companion, the Tupperware Jubilee.  I am thinking of naming it The Great Tupperware Recall Event, where participants bring their (my) Tupperware and assemble it into an enormous shimmering mountain visible from space.  I haven’t worked out the next steps but it will be epic.