“I need to give your Tupperware back,” Terri said.
“I forgot you even had it, no biggie,” I said. It took me a second to remember why she’d have our Tupperware. That’s right, the leftover cake from her birthday.
“Tupperware comes and goes,” David said. “I think there’s some Japanese metaphor for that.”
Maybe it was the faint fog of my hangover, or the carb coma I was slipping into having eaten the fresh biscuits David had made for us, but what he said sounded really profound. “That sounds like a haiku,” I said.
“Oh, I have Tupperware haiku,” David said. Terri and I giggled. We thought he was joking. But then, after searching the ceiling for a few strange moments, David recited, “A small plastic box; discovered behind the milk; no cooking tonight!”
“Wait, do you have a book or something? You actually have Tupperware haiku? You didn’t write that yourself, did you?”
“I wrote it a long time ago,” he said.
“Who has haiku on hand about Tupperware?” I was both baffled and impressed, but mostly happy I had a friend around to witness the moment. I shared a “Can you believe this guy?” look with Terri.
“Lifting the corner; a small burp of air assures; food for tomorrow.” David smiled.
“What? There’s more?” This was way too much for me to handle on five hours of sleep.
“This last one is my favorite,” David said. “It really captures the essence of Tupperware: Memories of friends; and the meal we once shared, saved; in this tiny box.”
“Okay, I can’t keep up with you,” I said. “I need another espresso.”