If I can’t be a housewife, where can I get one?

Good wife's guide

Follow these rules, bitches! Get my drink. Don't question my integrity. I know what's best.

A good wife knows her place.

Here are some more lessons, courtesy of the Sensible Seamstress and Betty Crocker. Bring on the butter; it’s a food group, y’all.

I get to share my health insurance with someone.

I will be a benevolent ruler.

Who’s game?

(Doesn’t it sound fantastic? Having someone clean my house, run my errands for me, and plan my social events, and cook my food? Like having a personal assistant. Because I’m so fucking important. Get my dry cleaning! Pick up my altered pants! Find a place for me to get my hair cut! Get the taxes done! Sixty thousand mile check up on the car! And 1950s style: just stop talking. Just stop. Because everyone who would do this simply for half my measly check and health insurance I’d probably want to stop talking.)

This is one of the songs I may want playing as soon as I walk in the door. Please have my fur cape and cane ready for me. Also a mocktail and some sort of cheese-based snack. Be prepared to fan me with palm fronds and under no circumstances make direct eye contact with me, your Lord.

Off with his head! Display it in the town square!


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