The Fourteen Hour Wife

Vintage Ad Browser

Being a wife in the 1890s equals scrubbing the floor, according to Gold Dust Washing Powder. That Eight Hour Man is no captain of industry, or else his Fourteen Hour Wife would have a fleet of housemaids and they’d have to do the scrubbing.

As for me, there’s no powder in the world – gold-dust-enhanced or not – that would save me any time. Never mind strength or patience. I don’t know how much money it’d save either, but as soon as I’d saved enough I’d be off in my time machine looking for a Swiffer to take back to 1895.

The wording of this also implies (to me anyway) that she’s only a wife for fourteen hours. As soon as she clocks off, she turns into the Ten Hour Floozy. Now that sounds like fun! I’d like to see an ad featuring her.

Glamorene

I love some of the names that they gave products in the 1950s, and this is my new favorite: a rug cleaner called Glamorene. Doesn’t that sound more like foundation makeup (“covers up all your imperfections for a more glamorous, lovelier you!”) or nail polish (“won’t chip for at least two days!”). But no. It is a funny looking powder that you shake on the rug after someone spills an ice cream sundae or something (hint: pick up the sundae dish first).

There were a bunch of funny ads but I restrained myself and am just going to show you two. On the right is a 1953 ad in which Mom is wielding a special Glamorene brush and has coerced her daughter not only into vacuuming but also into wearing a matching outfit complete with frilly apron. Note that the jar of Glamorene is on the clean side of the carpeting, giving an inanimate side-eye to the strangely even coat of dirt on Mom’s side. That is one filthy rug! How can people who dress up in party clothes to do housework have such a dirty old rug?

I guess they are too busy keeping their frilly clothes clean. And yes, I know that those are not really party clothes. I remember going to grade school in that sort of outfit, minus the apron. In third grade we girls were finally allowed to wear pants and I was SO happy to get a pair of jeans! Yay, bellbottoms! I’ve rarely been so happy about a single clothing item than I was about those bellbottom jeans.

Anyway…I also wanted to show you a detail from a 1952 Glamorene ad, featuring the jar and a tiny lady dancing around next to it acting like someone had just given her the equivalent of my third grade fashion statement. Yay, I get to clean carpet soils!

Ironic note: I have just this minute managed to spill coffee on the beige rug under this desk. Where’s that jar of Glamorene (and a 1950s lady with a brush) when I need one?

Ironic note #2: Maybe we don’t want to use this stuff after all…Here’s a 1952 Time article about a Reader’s Digest sponsored nationwide “cleaning tour” of salesmen demonstrating Glamorene, which is described as a “compound of cellulose fiber (resembling sawdust).” The tour almost got derailed (or, as Time quips, had the rug pulled out from under it) when someone died cleaning a rug on a plane. The rug cleaner contained trichloroethylene, and at first everyone thought that the cleaner in question was Glamorene.  Only it wasn’t. And so sales picked up again. And people still do want to buy it, too. I’m not sure that it is still being made, though.

A Spoon For the Misbegotten

-Gee honey, that’s swell. Look at that spoon! You are incredible!

-Yes, I can balance a spoonful of cereal right on one finger, see?

-I can’t take my eyes off it! And if my hair wasn’t slicked down with half a bottle of Crisco, it would be standing on end.

-Want to know my secret?

-Of course, dear.

-I put a dab of Elmer’s glue on my index finger first. And now -

-Yes?

-I’m…just going to stay like this. It’s quite fascinating. And – the Rice Krispies are really very…light. Nutritious, but – well, light.

-How are you planning to eat them? I mean, if the spoon’s glued to your finger and all.

-I’m not planning to. Because – well, dear, maybe you didn’t notice this but…the stylist for this photo shoot didn’t use milk in our bowls.

-No? Why not? What stylist?

-Dear, this is an ad. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that! And there are a bunch of dry Rice Krispies sitting on top of what looks like yogurt, in our bowls. Those little Krispies sink in milk, you know. Well, eventually. And we’ve been sitting here a very long time.

-Wow, honey, you sure know a lot about breakfast! And science. Yogurt, huh?

-Or maybe they found my stash of Elmer’s Glue in the cupboard. I can’t take my eyes off the spoon so I wouldn’t know.

[Rice Krispies ad from Life, July 9, 1956; Elmer's ad from Popular Mechanics, May 1952.]

Doc Glueky Is In the House

Let YOU repair my furniture? Like I’m going to let an adhesive-obsessed friend of Snow White’s into my house, armed with a bottle of  super-glue. No thank you, Doc “Glueky.” I guess that is an in-joke, your name. I don’t get it though.

What sort of doctor are you, anyway? If you cannot remember your pants in the morning, I hardly think that you are up to making diagnoses. Still, I suppose that it is nice of you to offer to repair my furniture (though the implication that it is all falling down around us is a trifle rude, you must admit).

Perhaps the Wicked Queen could hire you to glue her magic mirror back together. And you might want to suggest a course of self-esteem-based therapy as well. Or maybe you could repair a few gingerbread cottages. The Necco Wafer roof tiles do tend to fall off when it rains (they melt, too, but that’s another problem). And Grace the Card Table Lady from yesterday’s post could have availed herself of your services before rushing out to buy new card tables. She might want to work on the whole issue of peer pressure, too, while you’re at it.

From Popular Science, April 1941.

Uncle Ned Drops Through

Uncle Ned
The disembodied head
Is one relation
Who causes some consternation
For when he comes to call
He simply bashes through the exterior wall
To hear him confess it, he
Has made a virtue of necessity:
Since a talking head will always be discussed
He feels that a dramatic entrance is a must.

Yet crashing through
is really no disaster:
He never fails to bring
a hostess gift of Rutland plaster;
And Cousin Sue,
though in a rather fancy dress
Is always able
to patch up the mess.

But save some Rutland, Sue!
For everyone knows
Ned also likes to leave a big impression
when he goes.

[Ad from Popular Science, April 1941.]

Is That A Tiny Vacuum Cleaner In Your Pocket?

Is that a tiny vacuum cleaner in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

Say it in a Mae West voice, see if he gets the little joke. What little joke? you ask. Well, looky what General Electric has for wives wanting to hint around that they would just love a nice new vacuum cleaner!

Yes, it is a miniature model of a vacuum cleaner. Your local GE dealer is waiting to hand one to you – “and it won’t cost you a red cent.”

So you take it home (says GE) and stick a little note inside the tiny vacuum. What will the note say? Not anything obvious like “I want this!” No, it will have the dealer’s name and address on it. And then you put it in your husband’s pocket and wait until he discovers it.

“Hey, that’s not my keys! What – what is this? Who is this Lou Hooverific fellow? Is this some kind of funny business? Are you two-timing me with a vacuum salesman?”

But don’t worry, he will catch on almost immediately. GE says so. But I’m not sure you’d know, right off the bat, how to interpret it when your spouse starts getting miniature versions of things they want and stuffing them in your pockets. You’ll look at your kid’s dollhouse and dolls in a whole new light now. Barbie has a nice set of fancy jewelry and luggage. On the other hand, the furniture in that dollhouse looks like someone’s been chewing on it. Which isn’t much different than what you’ve already got.

Instead of the note, maybe you’d better just write him a letter and stick it in the old vacuum cleaner. And then put that out in the hallway where he can trip over it. That’ll do the trick.
  
[From Life, December 7, 1953. Big version here.

A Merry Little Cleanser

Have yourself a merry little Cleanser
Let your grout be white!
From now on
We’ll use a lot of Seismotite.

Have yourself a can of Old Dutch Cleanser
Those tiles sure look gray;
From now on
You ought to clean them once a day -

Here we are, kneeling by the tub
Wondering why we scrub,
What for?
Old Dutch sure is a gritty mess
Like my housedress and
This floor -

Someday soon I’ll take a break from cleaning
If the grates allow
Until then I’ll Seismotite this joint somehow

And have myself
A merry little Cleanser now.

From Life, December 4, 1939. And by the way, I really, really want to send away for that Exquisitely Designed Cake Plate. But you need SIX Old Dutch labels. That is a little much, Old Dutch. Oh, and one other tiny problem is that it the offer expired 70 years ago…But you can still check it out over here at the big version.

The real actual lyrics to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” are here; and the classic clip of Judy Garland singing the song in Meet Me In St. Louis is here.

And what in the world is seismotite? Aside from being a retro adword that I love, it was a pumice that was supposed to not scratch up your tiles and tubs and things. The Old Dutch Coin Test, which starred seismotite, is explained over here at Old Time.

Dishenfranchised

Velvet suds and sparkles?
What a load of crock
If you’re in the kitchen
With a bossy clock.

She’s just acting happy
With that stupid watch;
Her bottle’s full of Ivory,
Too bad it isn’t scotch.

Soap suds are not velvet,
Sinks are not a spa;
Baked-on crud is lousy
And no kind of Shangri-la.

Still and all, Nice going, lady!
Those are mighty lovely hands
Soon they’ll toss that noisy pocket watch
In with the pots and pans.

[This ad is from 1942 and the bigger version is here at Ad Access.]

Shambolic Logic

Love means never having to say you’re sorry.

And marriage? That means never having to say you’re sorry you have to hang the wet laundry up inside the house.

Or perhaps it does.

Sheila is not having a good day at all. It’s “another wet Monday” – of course it’s Monday – and there she is with a big laundry basket brimming with soppy socks and drippy drawers. She has to fling it over the lampshades and hang it from the bedposts and the towel rack and shower rod. I mean, she can’t toast it dry in the oven, right? Right. That’s only logical.

Ah, but try explaining that to Roderick. Here he comes, marching in – in a tuxedo, it looks like – and pronounces the place a shambles.* Where’s he been all day, a nightclub? He’s lucky he doesn’t get a wet sock right in the face!

The helpful, slightly smarmy friend in these little advertising dramas is supposed to show up about now, and there she is, right on cue. This one brags that although she lives in a tiny flat, her laundry is not a shambles. She has a Parnall Auto-Dry. The little minx! That’s how she makes the time to go nightclubbing every day. Like Roderick. Hmmm.

…Next thing you know, Sheila has got him to buy her the very same Auto-Dry. We really can afford it, darling, she says. In other words: you’d better pony up, mister. Or else there’ll be a nice, big wet blanket for you in next week’s shambles.

[A big thank you to Amy at I Love Retro Things for the ad.]

******

And thank you to Traci of Just Bloggled (I love that name!) for this I Love Lucy award – I am a huge I Love Lucy fan; we have the entire DVD set of the series and watch them often. The picture in the award is from Lucy and Ethel’s stint as candy makers, dipping cream centers in chocolate: “I’m a Big Dipper from way back.” I’m as thrilled as Lucy is when she’s about to get onstage at the Tropicana!

Paper Towel President

Well, gentlemen, our next ad account is from the Scot Paper Company. No, I don’t know where the other ‘t’ in Scott went. We need a paper-towel ad concept and I think I have something really good. Something that will really sell those paper towels!

Imagine this: an ad starring that well-known boxing champion, Abraham Lincoln. Because he liked to clean up his own spills – he was a man of the people! When he was at his desk in the Oval Office, having a burger for lunch, he’d wipe up the mustard he got on the desk. With Scot Paper Towels, in fact. True story.

And here’s the best part of having Lincoln sell paper towels: he’ll be made out of wet, soggy paper towels.

And we’ll call him Mr. Thirsty Fibre – that’s a tough-sounding name. We’ll spell ‘fibre’ the British way to really emphasize that this is just a good old American tough-yet-soft paper towel.

Oh, and when you make Mr. Abraham Thirsty Fibre? Make one of his coattails look like a horse’s tail, will you? And be sure his pants are a little bit short. I believe the technical term for this is – wait for it – floodwater pants.

[This delightfully loopy 1940 ad is from Duke University's Medicine and Madison Avenue collection.]