Some people can hardly believe the astounding scientific
achievements the human race has accomplished in the last 50
years.
Some people can hardly believe the astounding scientific achievements the human race has accomplished in the last 50 years. We’ve sent man to the moon, split atoms and cracked the human genetic code. Big deal. I’m waiting for a scientist who can discover a way to keep plastic lids with their matching container. Now, there’s an achievement.
Oh, sure, this isn’t as important as discovering the basic building blocks of life, but let’s face it: We are part of a generation that can clone a sheep, and yet we can’t keep track of the one lid that fits onto the good salad bowl.
Of course, I should have seen it coming. I’ve never had what anyone would call, a good relationship with plastic. My idea of organizing containers is tossing them into a cupboard – and closing the door real fast before they fall back out.
Now I know what you are thinking: “Anyone who treats containers like that, deserves to lose all of her lids.” And you might be right. But it’s just not me to do it any other way.
Oh, certainly, there are a few people out there who have tops that match their bottoms. And you know who you are. They are the ones who carry sandwiches around in airtight square containers instead of plastic baggies, brazenly flaunt their salt shaker lids, and brag about how fast they can burp a seal.
But, for the rest of us, the question still remains: Where do all of our lost lids go? Perhaps they just disappear. Or maybe they wander off on their own for a change of scenery. But I have a feeling the real reason is that the minute I close the cupboard door, the lids are immediately separated and carted off to mysterious locations throughout the house.
This would explain a lot. Like, why I found the lid to my salad bowl underneath the potted philodendron – or the cover to my oblong pitcher propped like a surfboard against my daughter’s Barbie camper.
And it’s not just my family. My friend Julie discovered her husband using the lid of her vegetable tray as a drip pan underneath his car. Believe me, I am as shocked as you are.
However, the final straw at my house came the day I found the lid to my cake-taker. It was upside-down, mixed in with our entire CD collection.
I snatched it up and brought it to my husband.
“I bet you think you could get away with this. Huh? HUH?” I waved the lid in the air. Then I let out a giddy little laugh. “Just tell me what I’m supposed to do if I have to bake a cake and tote it across town?”
“Have you been sipping the cooking sherry again?” he asked. “It’s only a lid. Besides, you don’t bake.”
Now this is the just the kind of answer I’ve come to expect from him.
And I could’ve told him all about my theories of lids moving to the neighbor’s house in the middle of the night and all that. But somehow I knew he wouldn’t understand. Instead, I tossed the lid into the cupboard and slammed the door closed. After all, I’m a mature adult and deep down I know that it’s only an inanimate piece of plastic.
But between you and me, I’ll bet 50 dollars and a slightly used cake-taker that it won’t be there in the morning.
