Swimsuit Shopping

I never thought I would find myself doing research on the history of spandex, but today I did.

It all started because I'm shopping for a new swimsuit.  For fun, I've been trying to follow the guidelines in my 1950's housekeeping books while choosing one.  The books tell me to check the fit of my swimsuit by doing a few things, and I have highlighted these for you underneath the picture below.

1. Sit on a chair or floor to check whether or not the suit is long enough for comfort and coverage.

Coverage?  Since when is a swimsuit about coverage?  I couldn't find one in stores that would pass the 1950's "coverage" standards, so I've been looking online.  So far, no luck.

2. Be careful not to catch your flesh in the zipper as you work the suit up over your hips and waist.

I have never seen a suit with a zipper.  That seems very strange.  Also, catching your "hip flesh" in a zipper?  Yowza.

3. Raise your arms in an action test to note whether or not the bra provides ample coverage in this position.

This one seems valid.  I'm really over the under-cleavage that you see at beaches nowadays, although I'm pretty sure some people do this on purpose.  Ew.

While searching my swimsuit options, I noted that the homemaking book tells me the best and most used fabric for making swimsuits is wool.  Have you ever heard of a wool swimsuit?  Apparently the professional swimmers in the 1950's used them.  I couldn't figure out why the book didn't mention spandex suits, as almost all suits today are made of spandex.  After researching the history of spandex, I found out that it wasn't even invented until 1959.  Wow!  So swimsuits in the fifties had no spandex whatsoever, because it wasn't invented yet.  Also, fun fact: did you know that the inventors of spandex named it "spandex" because that's an anagram of the word "expands"?  I thought that was super awesome.

So anyway, I've spent some time looking for an accurate fifties swimsuit.  I can't imagine that a zippered woolen swimsuit going halfway down my thighs could be very comfortable... but I guess I'll never know because I can't find one.  The only wool swimsuits I found were hundreds of dollars, and most of them were still at least partially spandex.  Most of the "vintage fifties swimsuits" online are made of spandex and incredibly revealing.  I guess advertisers feel that if you put polka dots on something and make the model wear cat-eye glasses, that makes it vintage fifties.  Well, that's not true!  I might have to make my own swimsuit this summer if I want it to be authentic...time to go buy some wool and zippers.

Cleaning the Refrigerator

Cleaning out the refrigerator is never a fun chore.  It actually might be my least favorite.  If I cleaned it out every week it wouldn't be so bad, but I don't.  After a while, gross leftovers sit and get moldy, and then I finally clean it out and am totally grossed out by the things that have been lurking in the dark corners of my fridge for weeks.

Today I had to clean out the refrigerator.  I thought to myself, "This would make a great Vintage Housewife post."  After all, women in the fifties had refrigerators, so obviously they had to clean them out.  I figured there was a technique to it, and I was right!  I found a whole section about it in one of my homemaking books (this one was from 1961).

First of all, the book reminds me to clean out my refrigerator frequently in order to allow for better cold air circulation.  If it is all cluttered up, the cold air can't get to all of the food evenly.  Ummm...oops.  From now on, I promise to clean out my refrigerator frequently.  Scout's honor.  Okay, moving on...

The book says that before cleaning, I need to be sure to unplug the refrigerator.  What?  I've never unplugged a refrigerator!  I don't even know how to do that!  The plug is behind the refrigerator, and I'd have to pull the refrigerator away from the wall in order to be able to unplug it. I think I'm going to have to skip this step.  I hope it doesn't make too big of a difference.

Next the book tells me to make sure I'm keeping the evaporator defrosted and to clean out the moisture collector box.  This needs to be done at least once a week.

I've lived in this apartment for two years, and I've never cleaned out the "moisture collector box."  I have also never checked to make sure that my evaporator is defrosted.  I don't even know what that is.  Do I have one of those?  Do you have one of those?  I looked all over my refrigerator and freezer, but I couldn't find one.  I'm going to guess that somewhere between 1961 and 2013, they stopped using those. I hope so, anyway. otherwise my moisture collector is probably really dirty.

So far I haven't done a single thing that the book tells me to do.  The third step is to make sure that the temperature is set correctly.  It should be set to 40 degrees Fahrenheit.  Well, I looked all over my refrigerator, and there is nowhere to set the temperature.  There are "levels" to set the temperature, but those range from 0-6 with no indication as to what the corresponding temperatures are.  With no other ideas, I stuck a thermometer in there (the kind you use if you have a fever) to try to see what the temperature of the air was. The only reading I could get was "LO."  I guess the thermometer doesn't go down that far.  I put my hand in the refrigerator and estimated that it feels about....40 degrees.  Perfect.  ;-)

The next step was one I could do - clean the shelves and the sides with a warm water/borax mix.  I couldn't believe that I actually had borax, but I did!  I used it in an experiment for fifth grade the other day, and I had no idea what it was before then.  Ha ha.  Apparently it's a great kitchen cleaning agent.

The book didn't say anything about throwing away the old moldy food, but I guess they just considered that to be a "duh," factor about cleaning out your refrigerator.  Or perhaps they did it so often that it wasn't a huge consideration.

This is the first day that I'm glad I'm not a real fifties housewife.  I really hate cleaning refrigerators, and theirs took a lot more maintenance than mine does.  I guess I should stop complaining.

Salsa Incident

In my quest to become the ultimate vintage housewife, I have yet to quote the highest authority on acceptable housewifery: the Bible.  Well, today is the day.  Our quote of the day comes from Proverbs 16:18, and here it is:  "Pride comes before the fall."

You've all heard that before, but I doubt you've heard it made in reference to Mexican food.

So there I was, mixing my guacamole to bring to our Southwestern-style barbecue.  Rex was already out at the grill with our friends, and I was putting the finishing touches on our contributions - the potato salad (I tried a new recipe!) and the guacamole (this was for chips but also to put on the burgers.  Yum.).  I learned how to make my homemade guacamole from the ultimate Guac Master - Josh Mackaluso.  Now, I can't give away his entire recipe lest I be hunted down and smothered with a particularly beefy bushel of cilantro, but I can tell you that one of the ingredients is Tositos salsa.  You may think it's weird to put salsa in guacamole, but just trust me - it's GOOD.

I tried to open the new jar of salsa, but it wouldn't budge.  I tried harder, but it wouldn't budge.  I squinched up my face and grunted like a pro-wrestler, but guess what?  It still wouldn't budge.  Normally in this situation, I would sashay into the living room and hand Rex the jar.  Without asking questions, he'd grab the jar, open it, and hand it back to me all without taking his eyes off of his notes.

If you've been paying attention, you know that at this point Rex was already down by the grill.  Well, I wasn't about to go walk across the apartment complex to have Rex open a jar for me.  It would be way too humiliating, especially since the only other female down there was a buff German feminist friend of ours.  I could only imagine the scowl I would get from her if I had to have a man open my Tostitos jar.

I decided to keep trying.  I grabbed the jar gripper out of our drawer, but it didn't do any good.  I hit the side of the jar lid with a knife, because that sometimes works for my little sister when she's trying to open a jar of pickles.  It didn't work either.  I tried everything!  It was no use! I considered making the guacamole without the salsa, but that just seemed wrong.  I would be bringing shame to the Mackaluso recipe.  Finally I realized I had no choice.  I had to have Rex open the jar.  (Side note real fast - how do you single girls out there solve this problem?  Do you have random unopened jars in your house?  I was not single long enough to experience this problem...please explain how you deal with this).

I packed up the rest of the barbecue supplies and prepared to go to the party with my guacamole only half assembled.  I put Elvis on his leash, and I took a deep breath, ready to face my embarrassment.  Just as I was walking out the door, I thought, "Maybe the lid is loosened up now that it's had a break for a few minutes.  Why don't I try one more time...?"

That was either a really bad idea or a really good idea, depending on how you look at it.  I will say this much: the jar opened that time.  "Opened" isn't really a good word for it, though.  What the jar actually did is EXPLODED.  I got salsa EVERYWHERE.  I got it on the counter, on the floor, on my dress, on my dog, in my hair...everywhere except in the guacamole bowl.  I'm serious.  I even got a chunk of onion in my eye, but none got in the bowl.  I looked like an extra from some low-budget horror movie.  I looked down at the dog, both of us dripping in salsa, and said out loud, "Elvis, let's never speak of this to anyone."  I don't think he was listening...he was licking tomato chunks off of his foot.

Anyway, in the future, I think I will just have Rex open the jar.  It will involve less clean-up, and I won't accidentally show up to the barbeque with salsa on my shoulder (so they all ended up learning what happened anyway).

Sorry, gotta go.  I have to do some push ups to get ready for our next grill day.

Preparing a Turkey

I think that preparing a turkey from scratch is pretty much the most domestic thing any woman can do.  My ultimate goal is to one day host the family Thanksgiving for my husband's family.  It's a big deal to them - all of the aunts and uncles and cousins come together and celebrate with REALLY GOOD food.  The aunts are pretty much my heroes in life.  So anyway, I'm going to do that someday.

In preparation for this ultimate goal, I decided to cook a turkey for Easter this year.  We had a turkey in our freezer since last Thanksgiving (that's a pretty good story in itself...you can read about that HERE).  I decided it was time to get out the turkey and try to cook it.  That way, if I failed miserably, it would be okay because no one would know except for Rex and I.  All of my in-laws are back in Michigan.  Plus, Rex has this thing about making a big deal for Easter dinner.  I figured it was a good time to attempt cooking a turkey.

Did you know that cooking a turkey and going to medical school have a lot in common?  It's true.  First of all, you have to pull out all of the turkey's guts.  It was like dissecting fetal pigs in high school, but it smelled less of formaldehyde.  It was still gross.   Even it's neck came out!  Ewwww!  I don't want to think of a turkey having a neck!  I only want to think of it as deliciousness!  Housewives are tough.  Women of the past even killed the animals themselves - I'm not there yet.  I got squeamish enough having my hand up a turkey's butt.  Gross.

Not only is it like medical school because there are guts involved, but also because I had to inject the turkey with stuff.  Did you know that's how to flavor a turkey?!  I got an injectable marinade, and it came with a syringe.  I had to screw the needle on and everything.  Then I started injecting it all over the place.  Poor turkey...good thing it was already dead.  In my head I was pretending to be a doctor giving vaccinations: "Now you won't get smallpox....now you won't get measles...now you won't get polio...."  Ha ha.  Anyway, I injected all of the marinade, and then I rubbed a bunch of spices on the top.  My friend Elle told me to "massage" the spices onto the turkey.  Two seconds ago I was a doctor; now I'm a masseuse for dead poultry.  It was crazy.  Below is a picture of me injecting the turkey.  Please notice that the picture is dark - that's because I prepared the turkey the night before in order to have it ready for Easter dinner.  WOW - a two day cooking project!  That's advanced.

I know this blog post would be a lot funnier if I could say that I attempted to cook the turkey but then I burned it to a crisp and had to call the fire department.  I would post a picture of our dog gnawing on the charred hunk of meat.  But GUESS WHAT?!?!?!  It didn't turn out half bad!  It was actually pretty GOOD!  I asked my friend Elle for advice on how to cook it (she came over and helped), and I also talked to my pastor's wife about it.  Now, if talking to your pastor's wife about cooking isn't stunningly domestic, then I don't know what is.  Anyway, it turned out really juicy and flavorful, which is good because we were eating leftovers for the next week.  Here is a picture of it:

This is me and Rex at our Easter dinner:

Okay, obviously I'm joking.  That's not me and Rex.  That's us fifty years in the future!  Ha ha.  But really, that's how I felt - very Norman Rockwell.  Do you know how proud I was of myself?  I was SO proud that I called my mother-in-law and said that when Rex and I move back to Michigan (this June), I would love to host a family holiday sometime.  Do you know what SHE said?  She said that none of the aunts have signed up for Thanksgiving 2013 yet, so it might be at our new house.  Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!!!!  Then again, that would be the crowning jewel of this Vintage Housewife project, wouldn't it?  I'll call that my final exam.  Time to start getting ready...

Prison

Okay, today I didn't read anything out of my housewife books, but I DID learn more about life in the 1950's.  I visited the Idaho State Penitentiary, which was run from 1887-1973.  I learned a lot about life for women in the 1950's, especially female criminals.  Here are some fun facts for you:

1.  Did you know that a third of women in prison in the fifties were there for credit card fraud or for bouncing a check?   Do women still go to prison for that? I feel like people bounce checks all the time.  Note to self:  DON'T DO THAT!

2. I read some stories of the prisoners who were held at the Idaho State Penitentiary.  Many of the women  were there for adultery.  Were any men there for adultery?  Of course not, cuz it's okay if guys cheat but women can't.  What's up with that?!  Apparently that's the way laws were back then.  Women had to be pure....or else.

3. A large number of women went to prison for administering or receiving abortions.  It made me wonder - when abortion was legalized, did these women have to stay in prison?  Want to know the answer? YES, they did!  How unfair is that?!  They were serving a sentence for something that is now legal!  Rude.

3. During the late fifties, transitioning into the beginning of the sixties, the Idaho judicial system came under attack because a string of women murdered their husbands and got relatively light sentences.  Male murderers were sentenced for life, but women only got a few years.  The general consensus now is that there was lots of spousal abuse going on in the fifties, but it was legal and generally acceptable for a man to hit his wife.  In front of a jury, though, many times the judge felt bad for an abused woman and gave her a lesser sentence because he figured she was just defending herself.

4.  Women had WAY better quarters than the men.  The men had tiny little cells and almost never got to get out of them.  Women had a whole ward to themselves, fenced off from the men, and they only had to sleep in their cells.  During the day they got to garden, knit, do crafts, and write.  They even published a magazine for other female inmates across the country.  Wow - girl power!

So I learned today that I definitely never want to go to prison...but I guess it would be better to be a female criminal than a male one.

Dry Cleaning

I need to take one of my dresses to the dry-cleaners in order to clean it for my next fancy date.  I almost never go to the dry-cleaners, but I feel like when a tag says "dry-clean only," it's not messing around.  Therefore I consulted Good Housekeeping's Guide to Homemaking for what I need to do with my clothes before I take them in.  The book never lets me down!  Here's what I got:

1. Check the shoulder pads.  If they are covered with a plastic material, or if they contain sponge rubber, they should be removed.  Plastic-covered pads usually become stiff and shrink excessively, while sponge-rubber shoulder pads are seldom dry-cleaned satisfactorily.

Ummm...my dress doesn't have shoulder pads because I bought it after 1990.  Still, what kind of shoulder pads were covered in plastic?  Would they crinkle when you walked?  Fifties fashions always look so cute in old pictures... I wonder if they weren't as comfortable as they look.

2. Remove all ornamental buttons, as they may be damaged during dry-cleaning.

Remove the buttons?  As in, cut them off and then sew them back on?  This seems like a lot of work.  What if I just be really careful not to get my clothes dirty so I don't have to take them in to the cleaners?  Dang...I guess that ship already sailed for this dress.  I don't have any buttons on the dress, so that's a moot point anyway. The book didn't say anything about zippers, so I guess I'm okay.

3. Clean out all pockets.  Certain types of matches left in pockets are particularly hazardous.  They may ignite during the deodorizing process, which follows the dry-cleaning, and start a serious fire.

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?!  Who keeps matches in their pockets?!  Why would you suddenly need matches?!  We are not boy scouts camping out in the wilderness; we are wives cooking barefoot in our freshly mopped kitchens.  Okay but really... I don't think I've ever kept a match in my pocket in my life.  I almost want to now, just to see what happens if I accidentally wash and then dry it.  Then again, it could send my apartment up in flames, so I guess I won't.

4. Be careful not to leave lipstick in pockets.  It can cause great damage to clothes during dry-cleaning.

Valid.  I bet  this one is still applicable.  I don't keep lipstick in my pockets, but it seems like people might actually do that.  I guess one out of four rules is still worth passing on.  So lesson of the day:  don't keep lipstick in your pockets.

Or buttons.

Or shoulder pads.

Or matches.

Enjoy your clean clothes!

Shoe Modification

"Techniques and habits of good grooming are essential for the clean, fresh look that goes with attractive clothes.  Understanding of good workmanship aids in judging the quality of a ready-made garment.  Ability to make your own clothes saves money, thus rendering first aid to the family budget."  - Homemaking for Teen-Agers, page 205

The entire chapter I just read was all about the pros and cons of making your own clothes versus buying a "ready-made" garment.  I know literally no one who makes their own clothes anymore, but I guess it was pretty common back then.  I wish I could do that...  perhaps that will be a summer project.

The chapter reminded me of something I did this week that was almost like making my own clothes.  I modified existing clothes.  More specifically, I modified my shoes.  What I did was so brilliant, by the way, that you're probably going to do it too after reading this blog.  Well, unless you're a guy.  Then you're probably going to think I'm psycho.  You don't wear girl shoes, though, so you'll never truly understand.

I have been very frustrated with my flats lately.  There is no good way to wear them.  If I wear socks with them, I look like a total dork.  If I wear the socks especially made for flats, they stick awkwardly out of the sides (my feet are huge).  If I wear no socks, my feet get really sweaty and stinky and I squish around in my shoes all day.  It's disgusting.  I can't wear tennis shoes to work, though, and I can't wear high heels either because I'm on my feet all day long.  I had to make my flats work.

They say that necessity is the mother of invention.  One morning, I decided to put kleenexes in the bottom of my shoes in order to soak up the sweat and keep my feet from slipping.  The problem with this method was that the kleenexes got all shredded up and stuck to my feet.  I didn't like it.  I thought to myself, "This was a good idea, but I need to improve upon it.  I need something that's going to absorb the sweat but won't get all shreddy.  It needs to stick to the bottom of my shoe, but not to my feet."

At that moment, an idea hit me square in the face.  It was just like in cartoons when a lightbulb flips on over a character's head because they had a good idea.  At that moment, I knew I would never be uncomfortable in flats again. I wanted to jump for joy, but I hadn't tested out my new theory yet.

The following morning, I put my plan into action.  Rex walked into the kitchen and stared at me, stared at my new creation, and started laughing.  He was laughing because it looked funny, but he was also laughing nervously like how you might laugh around a tempermental rhinoceros.   Like, "Oh my gosh...my wife has finally cracked...I should just back away slowly..."  Do you want to know why he was laughing?  He was laughing because he saw this:

Yes, friends.  That is a maxi pad in my shoe.  Have you ever heard of a more brilliant idea?!  It makes socks obsolete!  It adds extra cushion for comfy all-day wear!  It can be changed so it feels like you're wearing a new, sweat-free pair of shoes every day!  This might be my best idea ever.

I did a trial run with my new shoes at school, and they worked great.  I'm going to start doing this all the time.  Friday night I was hanging out with a bunch of teachers from school, and my friend Elle outed me to the rest of the teachers.  "Guess what Christine has in her shoes?!" Elle asked.  I couldn't believe Elle was revealing my feminine product fashion statement.  Well, I thought I was in for some huge embarrassment, but guess what happened instead?  The teachers all laughed at first but then said, "Dang...that's actually kind of a really good idea..."

Right?  Of course it is.  So you may think I'm crazy right now as you read this, but next time you're squishing around in a pair of flats you're going to think to yourself, "Maybe Christine's idea wasn't so bad after all."