TEENAGE TUPPERWARE TRAUMA!
No Sex, No Sup, Just Tup-Tup-Tup!
The Tupperware rep glared at me as she packed her wares from my flop of a party
I told my work friend Bill about my party that went south. His wife sold Tupperware, and he was badgering me to buy some.
“Bill, I don’t do pie-shaped wedge containers. I melt that shit on my dishwasher element every time,” I said.
“Tell you what, buy some, and I’ll pay you back,” he said. His wife was trying so hard. So hard!
Bill and I worked for the State of Oregon Rehabilitation Facility for people drawing worker’s compensation, and he had been married for fifteen long years.
His wife was a Catholic lady who wore her hair very short and she was shaped like a pear, lots of weight below her waist. She wore practically see-through cotton T-shirts, and her bra was one of those big things with three-inch straps on the back. She often came in to say hi to Bill, and looked at me sideways.
Bill was hitting on everything with two legs and boobs, and I was included. He had lots to say about being married to a Tupperware lady.
“No sex, no sup, just tup tup tup!” he said, putting his hands up in despair. He said he made that up. I believed it…
