Once in a while I mosey over to the website The Thinking Housewife, to savor once more that old-time world where women stayed at home in order to better meet their husbands’ needs, with god looking benevolently over that tranquil scene.

I usually check out the titles of recent posts to see what to browse and recently was struck by one that read The Housewife and the Plumber.

Could it be, I wondered, that the site’s genteel host had decided to explore that other aspect of those imagined languid times, where women who were bored by the routine of home life decided to spice things up by enjoying some afternoon delight with whoever happened to come by while her husband was hard at work providing for his family? But alas, instead of erotica the post just listed a set of similarities between the two occupations. So I was wrong, unless I read into the words some deep double entendres.

It is clear that I have a filthy mind, probably as a result of my embracing modernity which the Thinking Housewife has always warned leads inevitably to all manner of decay and depravity.

Or maybe it is due to watching too much Monty Python.