The Empty Promises of Plastic Wrap

Time and

time again

I pull out the box of plastic wrap,

each time,


that this time

will be the time

it clings to the bowl

and fulfills its promise to seal.

But each time,

it fails.


Just yesterday,

I carefully cradled the bowl

of spaghetti sauce,

holding my breath,

tip-toeing across the kitchen.

But pulling open the refrigerator door

jostles the bowl,

the sauce sloshes over the side,

splattering red into the fridge,

and onto the floor.

Of course, I was wearing white.

Other people make it work.

I see them on TV,

crisply tearing off a piece of plastic to cover leftovers,

their wrap happily gripping the sides of the bowl

to secure that food

for another day.

But in my kitchen,

it tears unevenly,

desperately clinging to everything in its path

until the moment I get it on the bowl,

where, like magic,

it goes limp,

stubbornly refusing

to cling to anything (even itself).

The promise of a seal again,

and again,

and again


I dismiss these failures,

sure that they are my fault,

and buy the plastic wrap


and again,

and again,

each time,


that this time

will be the time

I can make it work.

But today,

standing in the grocery store,

watching my hand

reach for the plastic wrap,

I decide

to STOP.

I decide

to give myself permission

to believe in my

own experience.

I decide

to stop wasting my money on products

that do not work

for me.

I reclaim my hand and reach instead

for the sealing ziplock bags

so I can see

the yellow and blue

make a green seal.

And, for good measure,

throw in the Tupperware tubs,

so I can hear

the seal

as it is being made.

I feel relief,

and a smile sneaks onto my face.

This should not be revolutionary.

But for me,

it is.


I decide

to believe

in myself.