I recently treated myself to something that I’ve wanted since I was a teenager.
I finally bought the Tupperware cereal containers that I have coveted for as long as I can remember.
And, yes, I know how ridiculous this sounds.
To my struggling, insecure teenage self cereal containers represented so much more than a convenient, streamlined way to keep Cheerios or Fruity Pebbles or Corn Flakes fresh. They represented stability and wealth or at least being not poor.
One of my best friends in high school had cereal containers lined neatly in the pantry. They were always full. We were allowed to eat as much cereal, and any other of the plentiful snacks that were on hand, anytime that we wanted.
In my house, cereal was a special treat that came only when there were food stamps. My brother, sister and I all loved cereal, but we knew that once we ran out, that it would be a while until another box showed up, unlike my friend who had the everlasting cereal containers.
Therefore, having cereal containers became some weird accomplishment I sought to obtain. But, here’s where it gets weird. Although we don’t light the fireplace with Ben Franklins around here, I have been able to afford cereal containers for many years now, but I simply couldn’t make myself buy them.
I have had them in my virtual and literal shopping carts many times, but I always put them back because I told myself that they were unnecessary, that only rich people had such things. And, while I believe that I deserve our warm, inviting house or a pricey bottle of wine every now and then or carefree vacations, I wouldn’t let myself by some damn $12.00 Tupperware containers because I didn’t think I was worthy of them.
Well, I have them now and they bring me joy. I hope that my daughter and her friends always know that they can eat all the cereal that they want.
To the Crewses and the Arringtons: thanks for always keeping me in snacks.
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Soshally Awkward
Sosha Lewis is a writer whose work has been featured in The Washington Post, Huffington Post, MUTHA Magazine and The Charlotte Observer. She writes about her sometimes wild, sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking past filled with free-lunches, a grimy sports bar, a six foot tall Albino woman who tried to save her teenage soul, felonious, drug addicted parents, an imaginary friend named Blueberry and growing up nestled in the coal-dusted mountains of West Virginia.
