I love a good tub. I love the startle-the-horses clippy-shuttiness of them. I love their sense of thriftiness and the impression they give that baking occurs in my house. I don’t handwash my favourite bra, but I do handwash my favourite Klip-It pot. My Tupperware is my castle – and woe betide anyone that tries to assail my walls…
A tub for all seasons
I have a tub for every occasion - and a couple for none, as I cannot walk past the cleaning aisle of the supermarket without browsing the Tupperware, in case there’s a new shape out. My favourite is the little rectangular one under the turret on top in the photo. You can fit about two mini ricecakes in it – but I have a small baby at the moment so that is just perfect! Not for it the harsh jets and pasta sauce-staining of the dishwasher. As you can see from the photo, most of mine are tinted with the hue of baked bean – even when I swear there wasn’t a tomato-based product on a plate that day. I love my tubs, but I have to get on with things too.
Thou shalt not covet thy fellow mum’s tubs
I say that one’s my favourite – but actually, my favourite ever tub is Gone. It was a mini round Lock & Lock one with three snap-clasps and I loved it with all my heart. I obviously left it somewhere. But it can’t have been at a friend’s house. For a true friend would ring you on your way home, urgently, her hands fresh from washing and drying it, to say she has it, and is keeping it in on a satin pillow till your return. Surely no one I have ever had coffee with would just quietly put my tub away in their tub stash, as though it had been theirs all along? This would be impossible to do accidentally, for every woman knows her tubs, like a ewe her lambs.
There is honour among tubs
But one day, even I was tempted to do the unthinkable. We recently moved out from staying temporarily with my very kind mother-in-law. Very kind, and with a direct line to Lakeland. Oh, her tubs would make you weep. I admit, I was tempted. I was packing up our last bits from her kitchen, opening all the cupboards in a final sweep, and I came upon her Tub Cupboard. When I opened it, a searing light shone out, like when they open the Ark in Indiana Jones. She has got some fine, fine Tupperware. Would she really notice if I took just one little tub? The one I was coveting was a flattish medium one – the perfect size for two rounds of sandwiches, something I pack regularly in school holidays. She had four of them all the same – and she was out. But I couldn’t do it. There is honour among tubs. I left with a clear conscience and my own dear collection, to settle them in to their new home.
I even brought the spare lids, in case one fine day, they shall be reunited with their tub.
I’d love that tub back, but I’d be just as happy with a nomination in the BritMums Brilliance in Blogging Awards for Laugh, Fresh Voice or Writer?
lol Jess i am so glad your tupperware conscious came back juts in time!!
Ha ha ha ….. very funny, I am very partial to tupper ware too… I don’t have a tub cupboard as such … but I do have a big tub bag! Such handy things! X
V funny… but does make me think you should get out a bit more… oh no wait. we have children. ok stay in and play with your tubs… still better than my life! x lol
It is a truth universally acknowledged that just as there is no such thing as a pair of socks or a white bra, after one wash, so your Tupperware is Blighted by Beanery and your Klip-lock to Closure-Resistance. It’s the Doom of Mummydumb.
I have a lot of tubs here! Many without lids, and many that just slide out from the cupboard and attack me on occasion 😉