The empty Cool Whip container is one of the staple items in a Southern grandmother’s house.
My grandmother refused to throw the trusty plastic containers away after their sweet goodness had been devoured. Being a child of the Great Depression, Maw Maw saved everything and pinched every penny. An empty Cool Whip container soon became the storage vessel for everything from leftover vegetables to shirt buttons.
It was not uncommon to find 20 of those white containers inside the refrigerator of my childhood. And it was always a gamble, a roll of the dice, as to what you would find inside those containers when you opened the lid.
My grandfather despised those containers. The mere sight of one set him into a full-blown rant that usually ended with Maw Maw setting him straight.
Paw Paw had a good reason to strike them. He found out the hard way what happens when you take a chance with the contents of the trusty Cool Whip storage container.
It was a hot, summer day that year “the incident” occurred. I refer to it as “the incident” because the story was retold at every family reunion, and the event sparked Paw Paw into believing Maw Maw was trying to finish him off to collect his life insurance policy.
Maw Maw had wandered over to our neighbor Mrs. Lee’s house to look over some fabric that she wanted to use to upholster an old chair she bought on the side of the road at a flea market. Paw Paw was practically pushing her out the door because he wanted to sneak a cold Coca-Cola behind her back. Being a diabetic, Paw Paw used sweets almost as a black market tool. He once gave away a whole tin can of Prince Albert tobacco for one Little Debbie snack.
As Maw Maw’s station wagon pulled out of the driveway, Paw Paw made his way to the fridge to grab a cold soda. I was his partner in crime because I knew I would get one too in our criminal endeavors.
Paw Paw’s stomach began to rumble as he peered into the fridge, and he decided to have a quick snack before supper. And lo, the Cool Whip container beamed like a beacon on the top shelf.
I was busy sucking down my soda and looking over my latest Archie comic when I saw Paw Paw sit down with the open Cool Whip container.
“Roast beef,” he said, grabbing a fork.
“When we did we have roast beef,” I asked, curious because I knew I would have devoured it all before it could make it to the container.
Shrugging his shoulders, Paw Paw couldn’t recall. But he was the man of the house, and the man of the house wanted a snack. So…the man of the house got his snack.
At first, he made a face and smacked his lips a few times.
“I hope this hasn’t turned,” he said, still shoving the roast beef in his mouth.
“Smell it,” I replied. “If it doesn’t smell right, don’t eat it.”
It was too late. Paw Paw had finished off the entire container and had already made his way to the sink to wash out the bowl.
For the next few minutes, Paw Paw kept smacking his lips. He even took a chug of water and wiped his tongue with a paper towel.
“It left a weird taste in my mouth,” he said, beginning to fill his smoking pipe up. “I hope it doesn’t make me sick.”
About 30 minutes later, Maw Maw returned with a hideous fabric she intended to use on her new chair. Paw Paw even grunted when he saw the “loud” array of colors and texture.
Making her way to the fridge, she stood in the doorway for a few minutes. Paw Paw was nervous that she would notice some of the sodas missing from the door.
“Now, I know I put it in there,” she said, shuffling around the contents of the fridge. “Where is it?”
“Where is what,” Paw Paw asked.
“Roho didn’t want to eat this morning so I put his food in a container in here for later,” she said.
Keep in mind, my dear readers, Roho was not a wandering cousin or a friend of the family. Roho was our four-legged, country dog.
Paw Paw’s eyes almost bulged out of the sockets. It was almost in slow motion when he turned to face Maw Maw. His face began to turn green, and he began to sputter words that I can only assume was similar to speaking in tongues.
I can’t repeat some of the choice words Paw Paw shouted as he demanded an answer as to why Maw Maw would even put canned dog food in the fridge among the fruit and veggies.
“Well, what idiot eats dog food,” she shouted, throwing her dish rag down disgust.
“The same kind of idiot that puts dog food in the fridge,” Paw Paw replied, gargling his mouth out with Dr. Tichenor’s mouthwash.
For years, Maw Maw continued to use Cool Whip containers for leftovers. But never again did she use them to store dog food. And Paw Paw demanded labels on every container since then.
But I couldn’t help but notice that for a few days after “the incident,” Paw Paw scratched behind his ears and let out a moan whenever it thundered. I guess every dog has its day.
