My mother-in-law remembers Tupperware parties fondly. Back then they were an acceptable way for housewives to get the hell out of the house, drink sickeningly sweet punch, eat pinwheel sandwiches, and gossip about their husband's many short comings. She bought so much of the stuff that her storage room in the basement is like some kind of Tupperware museum. I imagine a bevy of women crowded into a shag carpeted living room wearing lovely 70's style pantsuits with hair heavily sprayed with French Formula hairspray.
Home parties have definitely gone downhill since those glory days.
Home parties now require the attendee to have a huge disposable income. Tupperware is now for the rich and famous. Who else can afford a $40 burger press? This confuses me because I don't think the rich and famous want to own this stuff. I don't think Bill Gates has a Tupperware cupboard in his sprawling mansion. I can't see Oprah bringing in muffins for the crew in her new snack storage container. As a side note, I like to rig my own Rubbermaid storage cupboard so it comes raining down on my husband's head when he opens it. This is a real skill and takes time and patience and is always guaranteed to piss him off.
My sister is no longer asked to attend Tupperware parties after she made the comment that the pickle storage containers seemed a little ridiculous. She couldn't understand why anybody would buy a $20 container to store pickles in when the pickles came in their own handy container when you bought the damn things.
The company that frosts my pickle the most is Partylite. I've been roped into a couple of these parties and I'm always stunned at the way women ohh and ahh over candle holders priced in the hundreds. Haven't these women heard of the dollar store? Perfectly acceptable candle holders for all seasons and a bag of 50 votive candles for a buck can be found in the sacred isles of your local dollar store.
I suppose my hostility towards Partylite can be traced back to a surreal experience I had with my daughter's guidance counsellor. My daughter was experiencing some pretty serious bullying at her school and I made an appointment with the counsellor to discuss solutions. My daughter and I were sitting in the guidance office discussing the problem when she asked me if I would like to look at her Partylite catalogue. For a moment I was stunned. If I look will she help? If I don't look will she slip my daughter's file to the bottom of her pile of things to do? I decided to buy something in the hopes this sad excuse for a counsellor would get off her fat ass and help my daughter. I ended up buying a Christmas type candle thinger for about $60. My husband was furious and all these years later, when I put it out at Christmas, he STILL complains. Ended up that the Partylite pushing counsellor did jackshit and my daughter had to leave the school.
Now housewives can go to Passion Parties. That's exactly what I want to experience. Stuck in a room full of women I'm either related to or work with watching them buy vibrators and second-rate itchy lingerie. I'd never be able to look at any of them in the eye again. And what the hell does one serve at these parties? Pinwheel sandwiches just won't cut it. I say no thank you to the Passion Party. There are some things that should be kept private and away from the prying eyes of relatives or co-workers.
I'll buy Rubbermaid storage containers, dollar store candles, and my lingerie on my own thank you very much. I WILL make a plate of pinwheel sandwiches and eat them on my own though and think back to the glory days of Tupperware.
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