An Out Of Step Stepford Wives ‘Tude (99 Word Blog #084)

North Dakota legislator, Bernie Satrom possesses… is possessed by… an unsavory attitude. To paraphrase…

He expects wives to be subservient… to serve their husbands breakfast in bed.

Hmmm… does he also want women to…

  1. Fetch hubby’s slippers?
  2. Walk two steps behind men in public?
  3. Never disagree with any disagreeable crap his ilk frequently utters?
  4. Speak only when spoken to?

Satrom’s unpalatable, out of step, Stepford Wives, Fifties era provincialism clashes with liberated society.

What’s it gonna take to expedite this male sexist dinosaur ‘tude to extinction? Wives loading up hubbies’ breakfast trays with Fifties era, highly saturated, fatty cuisine?

21 Verse Salute: Nuclear Family Meltdown



This day’s tale to tell, mostly, regards family friction,

One would hope that it’s merely, a grim work of fiction.

Nonetheless, this plot plays out, upon real world stages,

Has spanned our vast cultures, coursed through countless ages.


Phony Phoned In Relationship…


Long, long ago, as such tales oft commence,

Two peasants met, both defied common sense.

Societal dictates! Roles / Rules! They would follow!

Were they even aware, that their hearts were both hollow?


“Don’t be a loner!” his buddies cajoled,

“Don’t be a spinster!” her peers would oft scold.

Duly duped by these meddlers, they’d woo, court and date,

Vowed to trip down the aisle, before ‘twas too late!


Now hopelessly lost, in their Fantasyland,

Groom-to-be bought The Ring, then asked for her hand.

Saner heads would’ve spurned, this Lothario’s duress,

Must explain why she gave him, her ear ringing, “Yes!”


She was the fair maiden. He was on the rebound,

Marriage for him? The second time around.

“Here Comes the Bride”, the organ grinder did play,

They exchanged tepid vows, one tempestuous day.


The grand life she ceded, being missus to mister,

Could’ve travelled the world, with her own elder sister,

Could’ve had hometown fun, too, till death do they part,

But he swooped her away, doused life’s spark in her heart.


Parental Stick Figures…


Expectations, anew, would ensnare and encumber,

“Be fruitful and multiply,” dance to that number!

Mom and Pop had been driven, and then double-crossed,

When Ma Nature won out, their two hatched children lost.


They were stick figure parents, irked without joy,

Their firstborn a girl, and next born their boy,

This foursome was fearsome, as a nuclear clan,

Out-billowed the mushrooms, once seen in Japan.


The parenting skills, were oft absent, elusive,

Focused on ‘tudes, which were cruel and abusive.

With tempers unfettered, they’d go mad, grow wild,

They’d forget there’s no good way, to spank a bad child.


The emotional baggage, both parents did pack,

Made for childrearing methods, which were out of whack,

Further aiding that mindset, the society traditional,

Spoke of outmoded dogma, best described as divisional.


It played favorites to boys, that’s never defensible,

It demeaned every girl, that’s mean, reprehensible,

With system so biased, it’s the sir, not the dame,

Who got to maintain, the family surname.


So both Mom and Pop, propped up this sick schism,

Male chauvinist ‘tudes, to foment favoritism,

Their boy child was one, who they’d strongly adore,

Their girl child was one, who they’d wrongly ignore.


The 3 against 1 math, the story-problem-come-true,

Rendered resentment, made daughter feel blue.

With not even one shred, of love to partake in,

Little wonder she felt so forlorn, so forsaken.


She was the sad orphan, with a live dad and mother,

An only child, too, in spite of her brother,

Since nobody cared, she’d make nary one peep,

Save for soft sobs, as she’d drift off to sleep.


Daughter knew all too well, that she had no real voice,

Made passive resistance, her M-O, by choice.

She’d take on the role, of the strong-willed protester,

From all of her family she’d hang tough, sequester.


Sister Perseveres…


It was from out of thin air, where she drew all her might,

Her spirit wouldn’t die, be it morn, noon or night.

She flung open Hell’s portals, and off she did roam,

Late in life, as a grownup, she’d run far from home.


She snubbed social structures, which oft tend to screw,

And flipped off the strictures, with male bias / skew.

She boxed up life’s sorrows, stowed them high on a shelf,

At last, made lasting peace, with the world, with herself.


After the death of her father and mother,

She found it tough, to still disown her brother.

It was not all his fault, that mom / dad took his side,

And allowed only him to go on life’s joyride.


Brother’s Regrets…


For too many years, as the fortunate son,

He had hogged mom’s, dad’s spotlight, nixed his sister’s fun.

He had hampered her happiness, in her life been a thorn,

He just knew she had wished, he had never been born.


Oh how he wished, he had not ruined her life,

That he had not been a party, to friction and strife,

Unable to think, of a remedy better,

He decided to write, a much overdue letter.


His pen touched the paper, in longhand he wrote,

Dear Sis, was as far as he got in his note.

He paused, wracked his brain, and then searched his soul,

To right a lifetime of wrongs, was no through the park stroll.