May 27, 2015
The Tupperware Party
“There is a toe in this tupperware.”
Cath discharged a scream so dramatically on-pitch that if there was ever any doubt regarding her history as an opera soprano it had shattered like the wineglasses should’ve had they not been so full of wine. Scott ejected himself from his armchair to examine the new discovery like a boyscout inspecting a grotesque toad.
“Whoa, it really is a toe. A human toe,” he said while moving his finger toward the severed appendage as if to poke it.
“Don’t, Scott,” said Kerry. “You might catch something.”
It was a big toe, cut off at the root. By the coarse, dark hair now covered in congealed blood, one could tell the toe belonged to (or had once belonged to) an adult male. Either that or a female with a penchant for shellfish and testosterone. The living room grew dark with the reality of this morbid scenario.
“I’m sorry, guys; I can’t. This isn’t for me,” declared Mandy. “I’m out. Good luck to you all!”
And with that, Mandy was up from her armchair and out the front door without so much as a backwards glance.
“That was rude,” said Sarah. “She didn’t even take her wine glass to the kitchen.”
“Sarah. There is a toe. In the Tupperware,” repeated Megan, as if Sarah may have miraculously missed out on that part of the evening.
“I know. It doesn’t mean you have to lose your manners though. Honestly,” replied Sarah.
“Anyone feel like there’s something wrong afoot?” Chimed Brett, but his trademark wordplay bounced off the post-gruesome-discovery crowd with not even a forced laugh as compensation. Dave cleared his throat and breathed a sigh laced with certain nostalgia.
“It’s times like these I wish I’d never given up drinking,” he said.
“I could really do with a joint right now,” admitted James. “And I don’t even smoke pot!”
“Seriously, people. We need to do something before Nick gets out the bathroom,” said Kerry. “This could all be a huge mistake… but there’s a chance we’re dealing with an actual, real-life psychopath here. We need to try stay one step ahead.”
Brett let out a burst of laughter at the unintentional double entendre but pulled himself together quickly.
“Should we confront him about it?”
“And say what, exactly?” whipped Sarah. “‘Hey Nick, we found a toe in one of your Tupperware… how much?’”
Scott, still stood next to Megan and the bloody discovery, took the reins.
“Okay. We hide the toe and act like nothing happened. I mean, maybe he wanted us to find it? Why would he have gone to the bathroom now, just as we decide to take a look at the wares. It’s not like any of us were especially excited to attend a Tupperware party—
“ — Ahem,” interjected Cath, but Scott carried on unperturbed.
“ — maybe he just wanted to liven things up a bit?”
“With a severed toe?” asked Dave, incredulous. “If that’s the case, I’m not sure I quite agree with Nick’s warped sense of humor. In fact, I’m very much regretting the decision to come here at all — regardless of my dire need for new, high-quality, resealable Tupperware.”
“Okay Scott, but what if that’s not it?” said Sarah, totally ignoring Dave. “What if we’re actually dealing with someone properly dangerous here? I’d like to make it home tonight with all my toes, thank you very much. I have plans for each and every one of them — ”
And that’s when they heard the toilet flush from down the hall. Fear is a funny thing. How swiftly it turns into stupidity. The ears shrink the brain, the eyes kickstart the heart, and in a single fleeting moment, when life would have you at your best, you forget both yourself and everything it ever meant to be smart, or brave, or clever. If there was ever any doubt about it, what played out in the next few moments provided unequivocal evidence for the brainlessness of mankind on fear.
As the ninth and final member of the Tupperware party made his way out of the bathroom, James jumped up from his seat and, without a second thought, grabbed the severed toe and tossed it at Dave who, reacting instinctively, swatted it in Kerry’s direction. The toe landed in her lap and remained there all of one split second before Kerry picked it up and flung it out of the living room and into the kitchen, where it settled in Peanut the Cat’s bowl.
“Hide it, quickly!” James whispered, but it was too late. Nick had already entered the room looking as if there was not a worry in his world.
“Sorry about the wait, guys,” Nick said, wiping his damp hands on the front of his pants. “Everyone had a chance to look at the Tupperware?”
There were a few murmurs of confirmation but for the most part, everyone sat in stony, stunned silence. “Everything alright?” Nick asked, looking quite concerned about the sudden change in mood at his, until recently buzzing, Tupperware soirée.
“Actually, no,” admitted Dave. “Everything is not alright, Nick. There is a human toe in one of your Tupperwares.”
“Dave!” said Megan, as if he’d blasphemed.
“Excuse me?” said Nick.
“Don’t play dumb,” said Sarah. “There is a bloody toe in your Tupperware.”
Right on cue, Peanut the Cat pranced into the living room along with some suspicious looking new prey in his mouth.
“Well there it is,” said Brett. “The cat’s out the bag.”
“Guys… I… Seriously?” begged Nick. “You think I’d put a toe in a Tupperware as a joke? Come on! What kind of a — holy shit, that’s gross!”
“Okay, I think I’m over this,” said Dave. And he got up, took his empty glass to the kitchen (for Sarah’s sake) and left with an exasperated sigh and a slam of the front door.
“Guys… please,” said Nick. “This is probably just a mistake.”
But the others were already getting up and making their way out behind Dave.
“I had to pick these up from the Tupper Warehouse after work today. It’s probably one of the factory workers’ toes… Why else would it be in there?”
But none of them were listening, except maybe Peanut the Cat, and even if he could talk, he wouldn’t. They were all making their way to the kitchen in single file to deposit their empty wineglasses (Sarah insisted), after which they made their way out the front door and into the night.
Sad and despondent, Nick set about cleaning up the aftermath of his failed Tupperware party. First he washed, dried and packed away the wineglasses. Then he rearranged the throw cushions, just how he liked them, and took the spare armchairs back to the dining room. Then, he set about packing away all the unclaimed Tupperwares into their respective boxes.
Maybe next time, he thought.
Lastly, Nick cleaned up the spot on the carpet where his left shoe had leaked about a tea-cup’s worth of toe blood.
Worth it.
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