WHAT exactly were women reading fifty years ago? Time to find out. Take a walk with Flashbak through the November 1968 issue of Ladies Home Journal.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen the woes of the housewife put so plainly. The life of a homemaker is “a mild form of torture”. I don’t think Anacin is gonna take this pain away, honey… you may need something stronger from the ol’ medicine cabinet.
You’ve come a long way, baby. Now you can get throat and lung cancer just like the guys. Welcome to the club!
Good news! You can keep painting that wall, honey. I broke my leg, but it’s not going to leave us bankrupt and penniless, unable to afford even a bucket of yellow paint.
Okay, Joe’s friends were dicks for laughing at him, but Joe is hopelessly naive, so you can hardly blame them. “You can’t say that in a magazine if it isn’t so”…. are you kidding me?
WTF? Her hands are getting a little wrinkly, so she wishes she never got married? That’s a real healthy marriage – Madge should recommend they seek counseling…. even Palmolive won’t fix this train wreck. Or how about your lazy husband gets up off his ass and wash some dishes himself?
That airport employee is wondering what this damn white woman is doing on his luggage cart.
“You’d have a bump right here if you were wearing stockings”. I can’t help but wonder if they could have phrased this better.
It’s nice, but I think it could use more orange.
Mother is so enamoured with her blankets, she’s about to step on her son’s face. Maybe the “rugged protection” of those blankets will soften the impact.
A short skirt that clung could lead to some embarrassing moments. But this was the heyday of the miniskirt – no problem was too great to fix in the noble cause to keep those hemlines up!
This zebra pad is amazing. Is the sewing machine made of real elephant ivory? That cat better watch his back, or he’ll end up a pillowcase in that home.
I wonder how many males squinted at this picture looking for a glimpse at some naughty bits. And don’t lie…. I know you’re doing it too.
Lady, go ahead and raise your glass. A couple more toasts and these guys won’t even remember their name. With or without pit stains, you’ll be fighting these drunks off with a stick.
I can only assume this an advert for keeping fresh breath after administering b-js. Go ahead and say my mind is in the gutter, but somehow I doubt she’s talking about kissing when she says, “I do it.”
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