It all starts with 70's Tupperware. Avocado green. Harvest Gold. Paprika. Servalier lids.
It's a good story. The kids in it wear their hair in ponytails and wear jumpers. They eat oatmeal for breakfast. (Guess what kind of bowls they eat it out of).
But then something terrible happens. But before I can tell you what happens next, I have to tell you something about myself.
You see, as hard as I try, I never really completely shook all the traces of Goth off from my formative years. ( Would those traces shine like silver I wonder? Black, shiny, evil-midnight silver? )
So anyway, there is a part of me that never wants to eat my oatmeal. No matter what kind of bowl it is served in.
So, also, there aren't any kids anymore now. I tricked you. This whole post is about me. And Tupperware. But also, mostly about me.
My husband just reminded me of something. I said these words to him: "Stop me if I start collecting the pastel."
I told you. Dark Side.