Escape the grasp of the direct sales party
The Tuppeware parties that our moms and our friends’ moms went
to in the ’60s and ’70s have turned into something that symbolizes
how women have evolved over the decades.
Escape the grasp of the direct sales party
The Tuppeware parties that our moms and our friends’ moms went to in the ’60s and ’70s have turned into something that symbolizes how women have evolved over the decades.
The newest at-home shopping parties are now Jewelry Parties and for those more daring, Pleasure Parties. It’s an entire industry. Candles and earrings, Perfume and…ehem…unmentionables.
Women juggling families and home, and more often than not, a primary source of income have found another way to parlay women’s love of the finer things (Read: things you don’t have to burp and seal) into extra money for household expenses or a family vacation.
The only problem with these “do-it-all” women, is that they make the rest of us look bad. Because as any party-goer knows, after all of the ooh-ing and ahh-ing at a candle that’s flame-less and yet still smells like vanilla, comes the pressure. After all, you do want your hostess to get the votive candle and holder with the reindeer on it just in time for Christmas, don’t you? All you have to do is throw another party, just like this one at your house, which happens to be literally across the street from this one, and would also have many of the same party guests.
I saw it coming the other night, as I attended a jewelry party, with happily chatting women and a very eager and gregarious presenter.
I looked across the table, wistfully at my pregnant friend who is about to pop and has about the only acceptable excuse for not having a party with all of the same merchandise at her house.
There was nowhere to hide after I placed my order for a bracelet that I realized too late looks identical to something I already have, only in a different color.
The Friendly Presenter was a whiz with her calculator, working shipping and handling like a pro. Transaction complete. She smiled at me the smile that only a fellow sales person knows. Uh oh. I’m caught between the kitchen table and the crushing mass of women that can really only be described as a feeding frenzy over the jewelry display. Too late, as she thrusts her open appointment book at me, and says, “Oh, I just know you’d love to have a party! Look at all of hostess gifts that can be exclusively yours!”
Glancing down at the book, it actually made me speechless. This thing was filled, and I mean filled with appointments. Literally in every square of the calendar, and all in neat, tiny writing to make room for more.
I stammered, “Well, I have two kids in sports activities right now, and school’s about to start and don’t even get me started on The Husband and…” I really had nothing to say about him. He’s pretty self-contained for the most part, as long as the TV’s on but I was running out of excuses.
Just when I thought her smile couldn’t get any wider, she moved in for the kill. Stupid me. Didn’t I realize that I was the gazelle and she was the tiger in this scenario? I think I actually did take a step back. It was too late. Again.
“But busy moms are the ones to do this the best! Ladies, ladies!” she addressed the group. “Don’t you all agree that the busiest moms always throw the best parties?”
There was nervous murmuring and then non-committal silence. Fearing that they would find themselves in Friendly Presenter’s sights, they avoided eye contact with either of us.
Traitors! But in all fairness, I would have thrown them all under the bus too if the situation were reversed. Besides, I took a quick inventory of how great my party would be.
While my neighbor had arranged fruit and miniature quiches on platters, I would typically forget that I even had a party scheduled and would scramble at the last second for stale crackers and squeeze cheese after walking in the door after work.
Somehow, I managed to escape the treacherous jaws of the Party Tigress and make my thanks to the hostess who I have to say, does throw a good shindig, complete with Margaritas.
Needless to say, if I did have a party, I am sure there’d be a lot of burping…and not a Tupperware bowl in sight.
