Ultimate Antiquated Domestic Domination Unlocked
HER BOOK is mine! And Martha Moore is rolling in her grave
Have you ever gotten something your possession and had no idea how it got there? No, no, not in the I just walked out of Bartell’s Drugs with my pockets full of acne patches and Reduced Fat Club Crackers oopsie sort of way. We’ve all done that. I’m talking about when you notice something new in a place you stare at all the time but don’t remember putting it there. This just happened to me. One day I was perusing my bookshelves and BAM! There it was, sandwiched between The Player’s Handbook and The Real Story of the Real Housewives was — HER BOOK.
What in the ghostly hell?
Turns out “Her” is my maternal grandmother, who’s name is embossed on the cover.
But how did I get her HER BOOK? Was it always with me? Is HER BOOK like a antiquated, grossly-outdated and sexist sisterhood of the traveling leather-bound books?? Will it guide me on some spiritual journey into middle-aged ladyhood? I got news for you, HER BOOK— you’re a few too many years late to carry me over that threshold. Also should we be lifting heavy things at our age?
Does HER BOOK appear to women who need it most?
Do I need it most?
I ask you: Does this look like the face of a woman who needs assistance on her journey into middle-aged lady hood?
Naturally I was hesitant to pry open the cover of this dusty tomb for fear I would be sucked into vortex of Jell-O molds and Jitterbugs and would be transported onto another middle-aged lady mom’s bookshelf instead of the neighborhood speakeasy where I belong. But the other part of me hoped maybe it was a portal leading to another dimension where people didn’t leave their shoes in the bathroom and the doorknobs weren’t always wet.
Or wait. Maybe my grandma was a witch. And my witchy ancestors have finally realized my true innate powers and have declared me the chosen one. No— The Chosen One. Oh please, oh please!
I know you are as curious as I am what mysteries this book beholds. Shall we?
I will if you will.
Let’s just go straight to the first page.
Household lore? Is HER BOOK actually a SPELL BOOK? Ahhh, so that’s why it made its home between the Player’s Handbook and The Real Story of the Real Housewives! IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW! Okay, I’m in, HER BOOK. Teach me the way to domestic dominance!
Good lord. HER BOOK has an advisory bureau—For YOU. Or wait, I’m the new HER now, right? I’m already confused and can feel domestic domination slipping through my not-at-all-calloused-from-no-gruelling-home-making-labor-fingertips. Let’s break this down:
Her Book carries all the fundamental knowledge you need for making a home, which is far more of a job than merely keeping a house.
Whoa. Who you dissin’, HER BOOK? Sounds like in 1932 there was some beef between the House Keepers and the Home Makers. I’d really like to dig into that history, but I probably won’t have time once I’m a domestic goddess. This batch of aromatherapeutic, litsea cubeba, and fir grout cleaner won’t mix itself. But okay, let’s see why the Home Makers stink like superiority.
It’s a job that requires a certain knack, a deft touch here and there—little things, to be sure, but, at the same time, warm, living, vital and personalized little things that contrast mightily with the cold and impersonal method of merely keeping house.
Warm, living, vital touches? Okay, I think I get it. To reign supreme in the Home Makers realm, I should tuck freshly harvested human organs into the pockets of my cloth napkins. (Of course I know how to execute a perfect triple pocket fold. How dare you assume otherwise?) But based on the blatant disregard for the preservation of commas alone, I might side with the cold, impersonal House Keepers. Having deft touch seems exhausting. Can we talk about my wet doorknobs?
For this reason, we have elected Martha Moore to be your personal assistant and consultant.
Okay, hold on. I get an assistant?! Amazing! I will take excellent care of Ms. Moore and leave her warm, living, personalized touches on her tiny desk across from my tiny desk. How about a vital, deft touch desk plague that says “Martha Moore: Assistant to Ms. Mazzanoble?” I’ll spring for the smudge proof finish, of course.
One of the main purposes of Her Book’s Advisory Bureau is the help you with your everyday problems; to keep you informed of the newest and best method of performing this or that household, social or personal function.
Yeah, I’m gonna need specifics on what types of functions we’re talking about. Ms. Martha? Can I call you that? Of course I can, you are my assistant. Is it appropriate to talk to your assistant about personal functions?
You’ll find Martha Moore a living encyclopedia of all the improvements that take place daily in the household world. She’ll send you vital, personal information about any subject under the sun that may be your particular problem of the day.
Okay, so basically Martha is an influencer.
None of these cold, impersonal form letters from Martha Moore. She is your close friend who sits daily at a desk up among the clouds in one of New York’s newest skyscrapers…
OMG, Martha is not just an influencer— she’s early Alexa! Alexa’s great-grand A.I.! But why do I suddenly have all these problems? A problem of the day? What if the problem is not resolved? Does it become tomorrow’s problem? Then what happens to the problem that was supposed to be tomorrow’s? Can you have more than one problem a day? Do they get backed up? Can you roll them over into next year if you don’t use up all your problems??? If today’s problem is relatively small can you tackle tomorrow’s problem early so you can have a day off without a god dang problem??
Here we are, spoiled domestic ignoramuses of the 2020’s, with our robot vacuums and meal prep delivery kits thinking we have it sooooooooo hard when our predecessors had A. Problem. Of. The. Day. Everyday! Of course they needed HER BOOK. What would they do without it?
What kinds of problems plagued these domestic pioneer women, you ask? Okay, I skipped ahead because I needed to know too. Just a casual flip through the pages tells me women in the 1930’s had to worry about things like:
will electric cooking taste as good as my own? Will he notice the difference?
how do I capture the “sunshine vitamin” in my bread recipes?
my desserts are only singularly delicious when everyone else’s are doubly delicious. How can I fix that?
It was a savage, cruel, comma-laden world. But don’t worry— Martha Moore’s got it!
To make it easy for you to write to Martha Moore, we have placed near the back of Her Book perforated pages bearing her address, and lined for your use. All you have to do is write out your problem, sign your name and address and the date of your wedding…
I can’t help but feel a bit proud that all the Martha Moore template letters are still intact. My grandma was a bad ass who handled her own problems of the day. But who were the Martha Moore’s answering these letters? Are they still sitting in their tiny desks up among the clouds in one of New York’s not-so-new skyscrapers wondering why no one writes to them anymore? Would they answer my letter?
Dear Martha Moore:
May I have a letter from you on the following problem:
How come my doorknobs are always wet? Like really wet, Martha. Goopy in some cases. Also today my family called a special meeting to talk to me about the ply in our toilet paper. They are displeased with it. How can I tell them to kindly f*uck right off to the drug store, buy some goddamn Angel Soft, and quite literally shove it up their buttholes? I got 99 problems of the day, but thin, scratchy butt paper ain’t one of them.
Love,
Shelly
You guys, I love and hate the book. I want to bury it in a marsh 4,927 miles deep and wrap it in Burmese lotus flower silk and cradle it to my bosom. I want to don my pink pussy hat and write angry letters to my congressmen about women’s rights, but am also intrigued by the Raspberry Shrub Punch recipe and how to turn my home my workshop. For better or worse, this won’t be the last you’ll of Her Book.
Umm, yeah, we’ll cover this too.
My Issues
RIP to the Unsubscribed! Guys, we’re down a subscriber. Someone LEFT THE GROUP. I can only assume it was the ugly picture post that turned them away.
You think I don’t notice these things? I know each and everyone of you and I feel a rush of love when I get that email saying “You have a new subscriber!” We are a family here! We’re having a good time, right? I mean, for a newsletter? But whatever, dude. You want to give up on this fresh, insightful commentary about rubbing your fourth grade teacher’s scoliosis hump to get out of math tests, I can’t stop you.
Is This a Problem of the Day? Even Martha Moore can’t stop me from buying books and houseplants. What a nerd, right? I’m using my book stacks as plant stands which actually sounds a bit like something Martha would tell me to do. Maybe the magic is already in me? If I didn't have to spend so much time wiping down doorknobs, I could probably finish a book once in a while. Read any of these?
BravoCon 2023: Yeah, bitches! The bestie and I are doing BravoCon! What the hell is that, you ask? It’s only the greatest celebration of all our favorite Bravolebrities in one place— Las Vegas! What’s a Bravolebrity? Come on! Those are all the “stars” from our favorite trashy shows on Bravo. This is our Super Bowl. Our Comic Con. Our children’s college funds being funneled into one glorious, estrogen-fueled, rabbit hole of celebrating people who really shouldn’t be famous.
Please don’t unsubscribe.
XO,
Shelly