bring back the 50's.

During a recent visit to my family doctor, he and I discussed putting me on an anti-anxiety medication. "Me"? I asked (totally faking ignorance). People, I was born anxious. I've needed to be properly placed on an anti-anxiety medication since 1978.

Needless to say, I accepted. I was asking the all right questions, does it have side effects, will it cause me to drool, will my children be safe in my care, things like that. He absolutely assured me that if I took the prescribed dosage, it would be as safe as a kitten. Seeing as though I'm incredibly stingy with my pharmaceuticals, I didn't see as this would be a problem. I told him that I'd seen my fair share of Vh1's Celebrity rehab to know how it all goes down. I watch Intervention. I ain't fronting.

So as he (he, being Dr. Feelgood) and I calculate over my many prescriptions, I disclose to him that I just feel inadequate in handling my life. I admit that I really have no right to complain, I have a great life, I don't have to work, my kids are healthy. Then there's my husband---he's in charge of multi-million dollar structural projects all over Grand Rapids and I'm stressed??? He tells me something that really hit home with me. He said, "Listen, this isn't 1952---stay at home moms are not ladies of luxury anymore--you're a Rockford mom and you're expected to be perfect". I swear he said this to me, "Between the school functions and the friggin' play dates and constantly keeping up appearances, I don't know you all do it". Obviously, I love this man. He's such an advocate of women! He gets it!! Hip hip! He gets it, for the love of all things great and small, the man gets it!!!!!

So after I patted him on the ass and winked at him. I high tailed it out of his office to fill my new Rx. No wonder they call it 'mommy's little helper'. Ok, so a while later I got to thinking (and you all know how I can get to thinking) about what he'd said---about it not being 1952. While I was not born or raised in the 50's, I do happen to read a lot. Here's what I know about being a housewife in the 50's. The women & children usually looked perfect. The homes were always spic & span. The children were minded and when the husband came home from work, the children were spit shined and dinner was bubbling in the oven. How'd they manage? They didn't even have the modern conveniences that we do now. So, what gives? I'll tell you what. THEY GOT TANKED ALL DAY LONG!!!! Yes, yes, yes. They invited their little sewing/knitting/book club gossiping lady friends over, sent the kids down to the "rec room" and they got tore up from the floor up. Hammered! Why do you think they were so amorous when their husbands got home from work. "Hello darling, how was your day, here's a Manhattan, why don't you take a load off in this EZ chair while I juggle your balls for a while". Ahh, the good old days.

We'd get damn near arrested if we got plowed in the presence of our children every day. Every other day, perhaps, but NOT every day. Plus, I don't know about you, but I'm a sloppy drinker. You can bet your ass I wouldn't be standing at the door with an ironed apron while the casserole bakes in the oven. No, if I were drinking all day, this is what my husband would come home to:

The boys would be choking each other within an inch of their lives, one of them would for sure be naked, the tv would be blaring, I'd be sitting on my front porch, wearing my ripped pajama bottoms and only half my hair would still be in the pony tail that I wore to bed the night before. I'd have phone tucked carelessly under my chin talking to God knows who, probably someone I drunk dialed and now I won't let my poor victim get off the phone and the children would be eating bugles & saltines out of the box for dinner. No, no, no---this won't do!

Not to mention, kids today are involved in soooo many activities, it would be downright foolish to hit the bottle all day long, then drive them to gymnastics or whatever. In the 50's, they didn't have such options as Spanish, Dance, Soccer, etc. etc. etc. It was school, cub scouts, home. Plus, those freaking kids walked everywhere. And they were happy to do so. Not our beastly children. We drive them all over hell's half acre, as to not tire their precious legs.

So, Dr. Feelgood is onto something. No, it certainly IS NOT 1952! I say, bring back the 50's! Let's get back to basics people! Wouldn't we be so much happier if our husbands left the office at 5:00 and came home to drunken, horny wives? The kids would be happier because mom wouldn't be busting their balls all day. The husbands would be happier because....who doesn't love a drunken, horny wife? And us gals would be happier too...because we'd be...well, wasted.

But, for now, we have to rely on Rx to smooth out the rough edges. Less calories, too, I guess. Ah well. Maybe it's for the best that I didn't turn out to be a 1950's housewife. On my drunkest, horniest day, I still can't envision me greeting my husband at the door with a Manhattan and a hand job. He can make his own damn drink.

~Happy to be a Rockford housewife in 2009!