I'm the very model of the modern modest man. That is why I am somewhat reluctant but still kind of excited to announce that there is a sex scandal going on in my house.
And it involves, of all things, Tupperware.
This is hot news for two reasons:
(a) Now that Thanksgiving is over, and I am more stuffed than the turkey, it is time to use the plastic containers for leftovers, which is what I will be eating until Christmas, after which I will be eating leftovers until Valentine's Day, after which I will explode like the Hindenburg. Oh, the calamity!
(b) Tupperware profits are even more prodigious these days than leftovers.
According to a recent story by The Associated Press, "Restaurant pain has turned into Tupperware's gain with millions of people in a pandemic opening cookbooks again and looking for solutions to leftovers. They've found it again in Tupperware, suddenly an 'it brand' five decades after what seemed to be its glory days."
I hate to say this, but Tupperware is also having glory nights in my house. This explains why it seems to be reproducing at an alarming rate in one of the kitchen cabinets, where topless containers must be having midnight orgies. Then they give birth to baby containers that must be burped.
I can't open the cabinet door without being pelted by a torrent of Tupperware. It's a good thing we don't keep crockery up there. Or bowling balls.
An inventory revealed these startling figures: 53 containers but only 49 tops. There are an additional seven containers and three tops in the garage, where the excess Tupperware is kept because the cabinet is jammed with the stuff.
Then there is the refrigerator census. There are five containers with leftovers: pork chops, eggplant, meatloaf, scallion patties and pork lo mein.