Investments

I tried to have a three day weekend without spending. I was thwarted by a Tupperware party.

I'm a sucker for those party plan selling ideas - I feel disgustingly rude if I leave without buying at least ONE thing. After all, the host went to the trouble of putting out all those little cheese squares and slowly warming salami bites. The least I could do is help her earn her 'free' hostess gift, right? And the catalogues are full of shiny, shiny plastic boxes, and they look so useful and after a couple of minutes my steely resolve crumbles.

So I bought these:

Oooh, so pretty. Look at those colours! Marvel at their collapsibility! It's Tupper-love...

So you might ask, being aware of my shiny plastic box weakness, and my no spending attempt, why would I inflict upon myself the test of a Tupperware party? Because I love listening to the sales pitch. Usually delivered over the course of an hour, the professional Tupperware hostess inevitably reaches a point in her sales monologue where she runs out of adjectives. Then she resorts to flowery half truths.... until she finally descends into madness. And that's the fun part.

Could I keep a straight face as she described a $50 can opener as an investment? No, I could not. I snort-laughed like a lady!

Here is the infamous can opener, in all it's expensive, investable glory:

An investment? Really? What's my rate of return, open betroot tins?

To put it in perspective, here is what I prefer to use, price approx $1.50:

And here is what I occasionally fall back on, priced at $0.50:

After pulling myself together I was actually saddened as the other women sat around nodding eagerly, picturing the expensive, shiny plastic can opener on their kitchen benches. Some even bought it.

Sometimes the message of overt consumerism behind the sale of shiny plastic boxes is a little too sobering for the weekend.