Dear Tupperware Cupboard:
I loathe you.
You are the bane of my homemaking existence. You are the single most infuriating part of my kitchen. The Achilles Heel of my organization. The cupboard-version of Miley Cyrus to my otherwise "this-makes-so-much-sense" layout.
You are everything that makes me sigh at the end of a long day when the dishes must be done.
"Why," you might ask, you disdainful storage closet, "do you have so much hatred towards me? You must be overreacting. I can't possibly be that bad."
Oh. You have no idea.
See, herein lies the problem: I have four partial sets of Tupperware that fill you to the brim, all of which are just slightly different in size, plastic composition, color, and so on.
And they multiply. Not like adorable rabbits, but like a flu virus. Like mosquitoes from a body of still water. Like evangelists that feel it's necessary to ring the doorbell at nap time.
They don't multiply necessarily according to your desire, Tupperware Cupboard. I will grant you that. It's more a matter of my mother sending me home with a piece or two of cake after a birthday party in what was once a plastic container holding lunch meat. Or my mother-in-law sending my hubby back with some of her salad from the last barbecue (which is covered by tin foil, not a specific lid). These get washed, and we attempt to return them to their rightful owners...but since everyone is dealing with Tupperware Cupboards from Hell, and no one wants to publicly acknowledge it, the rightful owners will stare at me blankly and claim that they have never previously owned that plastic contraption before. So, the container comes back to reside with us forever and ever. Typically, with no lid.
When trying to organize you, Tupperware Cupboard, I begin to fully appreciate what the creators of Tetris were trying to teach me in life. The music plays in my head the second I swing open the door and everything tumbles out at me in warp speed. I frantically sort things according to size-ish, color-ish, and brand. Tupperware, Rubbermaid, Ziploc, off-brand, butter containers...I finally accomplish my mission to see towers of plastic teetering to and fro as I slowly close the door.
...Only to have the miniature Godzilla that is my daughter squeal with delight and tear it all apart while I'm cooking dinner.
Or to have my husband throw the recently-cleaned containers and lids haphazardly in and close the door as quickly as humanly possible.
Or to just be hit with a case of the "screw-its" and just let it all pile up until I can't take it anymore.
There's no winning with you, Tupperware Cupboard. You're never satisfied. You always demand more and more of me, and you give back so little. I want this relationship to end. Forever.
...Right after I make my lunch for tomorrow and use a couple of the Ziploc containers.