Some people can hardly believe the astounding scientific
achievements the human race has accomplished in the last 50 years.
We can send a man to the moon, split atoms, and crack the human
genetic code. Big deal, I say. I’m waiting for a scientist who can
discover a way to keep plastic lids with their matching container.
Now there’s an achievement.
Some people can hardly believe the astounding scientific achievements the human race has accomplished in the last 50 years.
We can send a man to the moon, split atoms, and crack the human genetic code. Big deal, I say. 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, of course, this isn’t as important as discovering the basic building blocks of life and all that, but let’s face it: we are part of a generation that can clone a sheep, but can’t keep track of the one lid we own that fits onto the good salad bowl.
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. You’re thinking, “Anyone who treats containers like that deserves to lose all of her lids.” And you might be right. But it’s not just me.
Oh, of course, 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. Let me tell you, this would sure explain a lot of things.
Like why I once 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 upside-down on the stereo filled 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 and 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?”
“What’s gotten into you? 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 disappearing into thin air and 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 quickly 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.
