Mrs. Cleaver Disdains Women's Shopping Habits

I think it took me an hour to figure out my Gmail password, again, and find my blogs. With heartbleeds and explorer follies, it has been terrible. When technology fails, it crashes and burns. I didn't sound like such an excellent woman a few minutes ago. I sounded more like Viola Dace might have. I caught a "Leave it to Beaver" rerun today where I learned there were garbage disposals in the late fifties. I also caught a hint of the feminine mystique at work. Mr. Cleaver showed June a work project, a survey of women's shopping habits. Mrs. June Cleaver picked it up, and snorted. She pretty much declared no woman had written it, and he agreed that "some of the boys at the office" had done it. Betty Friedan, the defense may rest. She is the seemingly perfect fifties wife, but she is more real than people know, down to her pearls and flared skirts. My mother still wore dresses like this in the sixties. And, Mrs. Cleaver speaks her mind and stands up to Ward, who would like to be Ward[en] often. She has her opinions and voices them, and she is anything but a pushover. I sure wish I had her house. Hers and Samantha Stevens'.