The usual things you wear when you do the housework.

or maybe I'm not good at picking life partners.

Whatever. Just another example of Trumpian cluelessness.

Greeted with a hamberder and some cofefee.

Oh yeah. He's never had one.

Best pooch ever!

She will open the door, too.

Based on the testimony you provide.

I watched my Dad scream at my Mother if dinner was not ready the minute he walked in the door. She would go in the bathroom and cry so hard. Of course this moron and his followers who want the 50's back would say that. These men want exactly that, a martini (or more likely a cheap beer) at the door, dinner and sex immediately after.

Women, especially Black women, are going to beat this sexist toad into the ground, along with Mother's boy Pence.

They want the 1880s!
Robber barons & sharecropping.

We don’t drink! Where did you find gin? Why aren’t you at work? I’m confused!!

with fresh-baked brownies when I got home after a late meeting. I didn't ask why there was flour on the floor, in the microwave, and on the cat.

If it does, you need brain surgery. It couldn't be more blatant.

what he yearns for is: rich whites-only christian restrictive covenants gated enclaves of suburban aproned bobble head blonde wives and their Cadillac driving Sunday barbecue grilling highball swilling bed-hopping husbands....persons of color are back-door only uniform wearing maids and yard men...

My mom was a housewife. A damned good one. Yes she did have dinner ready. But my dad would never ever make her cry in the bathroom. She would throw coffee in his face before she would ever lose ground like that.

But a lot of mom’s worked at jobs equal to a husbands. The choices for women were limited. But still lots worked. Living right next door. They may or may not have Cadillacs. It was a very nice suburban neighborhood. One working teacher’s daughter, my friend, had a ‘68 Mustang. Is that bad?

No Negroes
No Jews
No Dogs

My parents were Holocaust survivors..they lost everyone.. our lives were never about the right fork or raised pinky finger...it was about surviving the next Hitler...my father worked 12 hours a day, my mother was the quintessential Jewish stay at home mom..they loved America and yet, they never really trusted the neighbors..I suppose the mezuzah on the front door was kind of a give away...they looked different, dressed different, spoke different...they/we were "the other"...yes..I remember the suburbs of the 50s..the "nice" neighbors...smile, wave, and walk away...

We carpooled to school everyday.
The doctor across the street was Indian.
Next door was a retired priest.
Down the road they practiced Bahai.
We were fine.

Oh, no gates.

You assume way too much. Not in a nice way.

EVERYBODY had a dog.

but the doctor two doors down was of Chinese origin.
My mother spoke three languages and taught French - her every action made it clear that she was inferior to no one including my dad.

the next door neighbor was the president of the local bank...he erected a very tall fence between properties but that wasn't good enough...he could still "see" the Jews..so a massive rock wall took its place..when my father wanted to expand his business he went to the bank for a loan...loan denied...so my father paid the white store owner across the street to "front" the loan..this is something he also did when he bought our house...loan approved...blacks and hispanics were barred from movie theaters and public swimming pools...I couldn't wait to get out...when my father retired he and my mother moved to Miami...they never spoke English again...

I grew up in a blatant charade of that "good" life. You see, both my parents and DH's were children of Depression survivors.

None of them invested in much of anything except what the breadwinner's company provided as benefits from union and non-union backgrounds. The moms did not work after marriage or learn to drive a car during those years. One was a 16-year-old only-child drop out who got a job posting utility payments by hand in ink; one was a high-school graduate who attended parochial schools. She worked candling and packing eggs during the war. One's dad, my grandpa, lost his life in WWII; DH's set of grandparents both died of TB.

Our dads worked all their lives for one company - never "lost" or sought out a new career-boosting job. Neither of them used veteran's benefits per the GI Bill for additional education. One was a drop-out; the other was a high school grad. Neither couple ever moved from their first small 3 bdrm; 1 bath "suburban" homes they purchased after the war with mortgages that gradually rose to under $100 a month throughout the 30 years of those mortgages. Trust me, it's been a struggle to separate from those fraudulent "suburban" messages of systemic white privileges of opportunity and RW Christian fundamentalist judgment values underpinned by the "gaslighting" in our FOO as true families of the early "burbs."

I think my dad became one of YOUR "nice" neighbors. He once told me, "I contribute to my community by mowing my lawn."

Forced to the Rust Belt in the '30s, he was a ticked-off notch baby. He was an Army vet who had been sent to ivory tower Yale University for military training by his employer though not for advanced spycraft. He honorably hooked up and protected phone lines in foreign jungles but had few stories to tell.

Mom's dad, a meat-packing worker off the farm, enlisted in the Army and, as I said above, was lost forever in Europe where his remains remain. Had he returned...perhaps my mom's experience as the child of a suddenly single mother from the farm would have been different; hence, mine.

DH's grandmother was a then rare woman divorcee; her ex was an itinerate preacher who left her with a baby and no funds each time he returned home. Some years later, she remarried; her sons and daughter left the nest to war or marriage, each to their own lives. DH's dad returned home from Pearl Harbor to his wife and her friend - another rural drop-out retail clerk who never left their home and outlived his wife.

Did they love America, the land of opportunity??? To be sure life is complicated, so SMH, I don't know the answer.

mocked those sitcom portrayals of themselves. They weren’t realistic and probably weren’t meant to be realistic.

He cooks dinner and makes a terrible mess. But he is a really good cook! She cleans up the kitchen. Everyone is happy.

I *HATE* cooking

My son enjoys it and I love when they invite me over for dinner. I told him years a go, when he was a teenager, to learn to cook because most young women had different things in mind. Things like higher education and careers.

He must have believed some of that and started cooking for himself. It worked!

most of the guys I have dated have been fairly decent cooks; to find a superb one is a huge bonus!

never smiles.

She calls me, and with good reason, "Crabby Appelton" because I am rotten to the core.....

(If you remember Crabby Appelton then your age is showing)

Hint: EE EE oh oh iffic, my name's ___ ________
and Mighty Manfred the wonder dog

But, I can't tell you what I had for supper last night.

My pet name for my DH is "Crumudgeon" but I like to think I choose the battle's timing though I suspect he's of the age of selective hearing. Don't think for a minute he doesn't throw a zinger now and then as well; something about being just like his MIL! Hey, we made it this far...

I used it back in the days when I could hear a gant fart. It is taught in the highly secret school that all boys attend. Today, after years of construction work, I don't have to fake it any more. Nobody told us, when I was in my 20s, that jackhammers and skill saws would wreck your hearing. Now days, my most often used word is "huh?"