A friend recently posted a Facebook update that asked: Would you be a good 1950s wife or husband? Would you want to be?
My initial answer was "no and no."
Sure, I like 1950s dresses, retro aprons, Jell-o salads, but let's get real. All that cleaning? My threshold for cleaning is ten minutes a day.
I barely know how to work the coffee pot.
Will does at least half of the cooking (what? I let him do all the jobs that require using a big knife and I make him open the jars). I like to bake, yes, but only because I'm not required to do it. I can mix a drink, but if I'm mixing one for my husband, I'm mixing one for myself, too.
In my world (and please know that I speak only for myself here), 1950s wifely duties are best shared or, better yet, outsourced.
But then! I read the question again and lo! I missed a very important part. You see, the question asks whether I would make a good 1950s wife or husband.
You know, I would make a spectacular 1950s husband. Can you imagine? An ever-perky someone bringing you mixed drinks and newspapers and slippers? Never having to cook a meal or mop a floor or iron a pair of pants? Sounds swell.
And you? Would you be a good 1950s wife or husband? Would you want to be?