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.

Good Lux With That

Watching the idiot box all day sure made them hungry. No wonder Dad and the kiddies are tired and can’t do a thing except stare at the TV – they are exhausted from snacking.

But did they have to leave all the dishes on the floor?

And I suppose that little bottle of Lux down in the corner is going to be helping out. It is about as big as one of those stacks of dishes. Though it may need to stand on a few telephone books to reach the sink.

And unless it can tie on a frilly apron and start swinging a sponge, I doubt it will be able to help all that much. I really do.

[Thanks to Millie Motts.]

Toast-Trouble At Our House

One more crack about burnt toast, Mr. Smith, and you’ll lose a perfectly good wife! What do you expect from an old toaster like ours?

This isn’t just about the toast, one suspects. In two succinct lines, Mrs. Smith has implied that:

1. She’s sick of his horrible jokes.
2. She, in contrast, is “perfectly good” – unlike him and his rude cracks about the food.
3. He has not supplied the home with sufficiently shiny and new things. In fact, it is quite a flophouse – and he’s lucky she didn’t elaborate.

So what will Mr. Smith do? Apologize? Offer to have a balanced and therapeutic discussion? No – it’s off to the appliance store instead, where spending money makes everything right again. Mr. Smith turns to the psychologically wise salesman, who has a bunch of shiny things to unload on the customers. Mr. Smith plays right into his hands, in fact:

We’re having toast-trouble at our house. If you’ve got a toaster that couldn’t burn toast on a bet, that’s the one for me. [Translation: I need a toaster that so fool-proof that even Mildred can't louse up the toast.]

Ah, toast-trouble. It’s a common marital problem. Next will come the revolt of the rissoles, the kitchen-counter-revolution and, finally, the dinner-hour casserole catastrophe.

So Mr. Smith brings home a Toastmaster and says to the strangely-radiant Mrs. Smith, “This ought to solve the problem, dear.”  [Translation: This ought to shut you up. I hope. Although my jokes about burnt toast really were very funny.]

And yet – the next morning, she comes out with this very curious statement. Not unadulterated coos of joy about her marvelous new Toastmaster toaster, oh no:

“John, I can’t bear it! You’re mild as a lamb every morning. What’ll I do, now that you don’t have burnt toast every morning?”

What does she mean, what’ll I do? Did she like the burnt-toast jokes after all? Maybe that toast-trouble was keeping things  – exciting. Time to break out the emergency box of Rice Krispies.

[Horrifyingly big version here, from Life, February 19, 1940.]

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.

The Merry Wives of Dormeyer

I think we can all see who this ad is addressed to. You WIVES out there – this is what you have to do! You may want to make some notes. Look at all the pretty pictures here and when you see something shiny that you really like – say, a toaster or a lovely coffee pot – put a Great Big Circle around it. That means “a round shape” like an O. Can you do that? Good. Then bring the ad right over to Him and show him what you did.

He should jump up out of the Barcalounger and go straight to the store. Really! He will. But in case he does not go immediately – you are going to have to step up your game a little. Crying is good. Just a little because you don’t want to get the ad wet, right? And you also don’t want to frighten him.

Husbands: you get the smaller print message at the bottom, because you big boys are So Smart you do not need Great Big Sesame Street Letters. Good for you! You are reading very well now! Anyway – just get what she wants, OK? It’ll make her happy, and we here at Dormeyer will also be happy, and won’t cry.

If you don’t – she will cry. You know why? (Here comes the Plot Twist…) Well, sir, your wife has a Secret Life. She is in fact the CEO of Dormeyer and her big Christmas bonus is riding on lots of extra sales.

Either that or she really really likes toasters.

This is from the London TimesOnline – they have a panorama of the 10 Most Bizarre Sexist Adverts for your reading pleasure today. You won’t be surprised to learn that this caught my attention at once, so I stopped reading the Serious News and went right over. I made the ad a little bigger over here, so you can really see all those fabulous presents.

I had already written about the Dave’s Locked Out Listerine Free Wife, so that was out. So I chose the one that looked the most like something that comes from my magazine collection – the one that looks a little chewed-up and tired. Perfect for Monday.

Window Pain

This storm window clearly did not come with any instructions. Rule #1: do not attempt to walk through it.

Because that’s one thing you can’t protect your family (or anyone) from: being stupid enough to walk through a storm window. A storm window that they are holding in front of them!

Installing in minutes just isn’t soon enough for this lady. They should have installed it in the few seconds they had before she came crashing through the front door.

From Popular Mechanics, October 1956.