Have you ever been explicitly warned to make sure you return a butter bowl? It is their best one, and they will need it for the church dinner leftovers next week.
Yep, that is my family. We all know Appalachia has some sacred rituals passed down to each generation.
For my family, it’s butter bowls and Cool Whip bowls. A complete nonnegotiable.
They are to be promptly returned at the earliest convenience of whoever was trusted with one.
Almost every holiday, one of us cousins got picked off by a mom or aunt for not returning the bowl.
Not the family who lived hours away, though. They were always allowed to do as they wished with the bowl. They got special privileges every time.
The rules are simple. Enjoy the leftovers later, carefully wash the containers, and return it.
When it was admitted that the bowl had been thrown away or the dishwasher had claimed it, you were banished to no-leftover-purgatory unless you brought your own storage. Banished to the no-bowl-for-you zone until.. forever.
Well, I was anyways.
Those bowls are dangerous business.
The aunt might not remember where she put her keys or hear what you tell her. But you can bet that the next time she sees you, she is going to ask a couple of questions.
“Did you eat the leftovers? You haven’t thrown the bowl away?”
Followed by, “Don’t forget to drop it off when you are over this way.”
Sounds sweet, doesn’t it? Nope. It is a thinly veiled threat of what happens if it is not returned.
Really, it is a used container from something purchased for a completely different reason. But yes, make sure you return it.
It was always comical. It was almost like a hushed moment of reverence. Instructions were given. Mental notes were made.
We all knew another bowl was already sitting in their fridge, waiting to be used for anything but what originally came in it.
Have I ever been one to throw a precious bowl away?
Yes.
I admitted it either got tossed or melted. The look of disappointment my own mother gave me, followed by the lecture that came after, I will never forget.
I was never allowed to take a bowl home again.
“Danielle! Why would you do that? You didn’t tell me you threw it away. I thought it was in the cabinet. My God, why.”
To be fair to my mom, it was a particularly trying holiday for her. Pranks were pulled. Family members were accused of being in on the pranks. Kids were questioned. The makeup foundation in the hand soap dispenser is still a comical story to this day.
But let’s focus on me throwing a damn Cool Whip bowl away.
Sure. Why not.
The game of fridge roulette. You know the one.
Heaven forbid you are actually looking for butter.
Four identical bowls sitting in there looking for you. Butter, soup, dessert, or something from a few days ago everyone forgot about that is mostly empty.
One time, not me, but someone in the house of Danielle accidentally melted an entire bowl of butter thinking it was a bowl of potato soup.
They put it back in the fridge!
Needless to say, I was shocked I wasn’t going to have butter for my grits. It can only be described as complete shock and abomination, followed by throwing a few of those bowls away in retaliation.
Damn butter bowls.
Now us, the new generation of bowl-collecting, Appalachia-loving family, have of course evolved and upgraded our bowls and portion sizes.
Now the bowls are cottage cheese containers, yogurt containers, and salsa jars. And of course, a butter bowl is always available.
We don’t worry about returning the bowls. It is just a gesture of love we continue, while laughing about the comical inquisition we endured in the old days.
I currently have a container in the sink from Hairspray Cuz, who sent me some soup.
Will it make it back, or not…
Glad she trust me. I don’t.
