A friend of mine just started selling Tupperware. And now her Instagram is full of shiny photos of colorful plastics.
“I’m so relieved I went through all my ‘consultant’ phases before social media was invented,” I said to myself.
I can’t recall if Stampin’ Up* or Tupperware came first.
*See previous post on crafting.
My cousin sold Tupperware, so I had a party for her. And the words “free stuff” lodged themselves deep in my heart and I couldn’t stop.
When you sign up to sell Tupperware, you get this big giant duffle bag large enough to hide not one, but two bodies (should the need arise) stuffed clear full of free Tupperware.
And who among the young moms crowd doesn’t need another gadget in which to store Cheerios?
In any case. I can attest you can, in fact, have too much Tupperware.
It may not, however, be possible to have too many stamps. You wouldn’t even need a mini-sized duffle bag to hide all my wood stamps. And of course I was buying ahead for the zombie apocalypse, so I have not one but two full-sized ink cartridges of my favorite colors.
Note to self in hindsight. Ink doesn’t last forever. Even when shrink-wrapped. Don’t hold your break for a Life Hack tutorial with 50 ways to upcycle a dried-up ink cartridge.
Just tonight I was telling my friend Melody’s husband Jeff about how Melody literally saved my life once. I’d been quite sick with the flu (note to everyone: If you are only sick for a day or two, and if your bones don’t hurt, and if you don’t feel like you got hit by a train, it’s not the flu). I saw my doctor and she was a bit concerned, but she sent me home. She told me, however, if I got any worse, to call her back.
I got worse.
I called her back.
And the bouncer at her front office brushed me off.
So I asked Melody to drop by and check on me after work. And you know, since she is a nurse, work for her is a 12 hour shift.
Whatever she saw in me gave her pause, enough so that she went back to her office for more serious diagnostic tools.
“You need to go to the ER,” she said.
“Tomorrow?” I asked.
So I did. And my oxygen was at 80.
I remember lying on my back on the gurney with oxygen tubes in my nose trying so incredibly hard to bring it up to 90. Because they told me if I could keep it at 90 I could go home.
Instead I was admitted and stayed for a week.
As they admitted me I told Shane, “Whatever you do, DO NOT LET ANYONE IN OUR HOUSE!”
Because I had three young kids. My husband had just finished his master’s degree. I had been sick for at least a couple of weeks. And the house was a mess. A disastrous mess.
Of course by the end of a week in the hospital with double pneumonia when I finally got to come home on oxygen for what would be another month, I was still embarrassed, but also quite grateful to see my piles of laundry had been tackled, my kids had been fed, and my house had been deep cleaned.
The I can still hear the echo of my good friend Lynda:
“You have too many candles.”
“Do not buy any more candles.”
The culprits there were not just one retail candle and bath and body product maker that held semi-annual warehouse sales, but also the candle equivalent of Tupperware–PartyLite–that had lured me in with so many promises of “free stuff.”
While I’m happy to report I, eventually, stopped buying candles, I will never divulge how many I still have left.
Although I’m certain they, like my craft supplied, will come in quite handy during the zombie apocalypse.
[Day 91 of Ann Dee Ellis’ 8-Minute Memoir.]