Friedan at Work

(Characters: Betty, Mary, Fred, the Children)

(Setting: 1950’s kitchen/living room complete with the tiled floors and retro colors. Betty is dusting the top of some generic household appliance in the kitchen. She is in her twenties. She hears a knock at the door.)

Betty: (To herself, puts down duster, walks to door) I wonder who that could be. It’s too early for the children to be home.

Mary: Hello Betty. I figured I’d stop by and bring you some banana nut bread straight from the oven.

Betty: (Receiving the plate) What a lovely surprise! Why thank you. It’s been so long since I’ve had this. I hardly ever make it anymore since the children prefer chocolate cake. Come in, come in.

Mary: (Walks into the living room) You really have done a swell job cleaning. Your living room is always top notch beautiful. Like in the catalogues.

Betty: Oh don’t say that. It’s nowhere near those!

Mary: May I sit down?

Betty: (Motioning for her to sit down) Oh of course. I’m so sorry…I haven’t really been feeling myself lately.

Mary: (Sits down and laughs) Tell me about it.

Betty: (Sits down) It’s cleaning all day and cooking all afternoon.

Mary: (Shrugs) It happens I suppose.

Betty: But if I should be cooking and cleaning all day, I wish I was as glamorous as the women in the magazines.

Mary: Don’t say that. They’re touched up with fancy lights and whatnot.

Betty: But it would be so nice to be perfect. You should see how my husband flips through those.

Mary: (Confused glance) Your husband pages through the home catalogues?

Betty: Believe it or not, he’s a big fan of home décor. I suppose that’s why I try my hardest to keep the home looking so swell.

Mary: Well you do a wonderful job, Betty. I can’t see an inch of dust.

Betty: (Laughs) You haven’t seen the kitchen then.

Mary: Oh I’m sure it’s not that bad. You should see mine. (Sniffs air) My, that’s a delicious smell. What are you cooking?

Betty: Oh just a little old family recipe. You know, my mother was the undisputed master in the kitchen. It was a real treat to have a mother like that.

Mary: I remember coming over back in the old days. Your mother really was an excellent cook. And you were lucky. And so was you father.

Betty: I know, I know.

Mary: So what is it exactly you’re making? Smells a bit like a roast.

Betty: What a nose on you. That’s exactly what I’m cooking. It’s Fred’s favorite.

Mary: You cook roast often?

Betty: (Laughs) Well…whenever my Fred wants me to. So I guess you could call it often.

Mary: Well I only cook my husband’s favorite when he gets a job promotion.

Betty: Oh, right. John works for some big company, doesn’t he?

Mary: (Nods head in agreement) Mmhmm.

Betty: (As though she just remembered something) Oh, I almost forgot! Would you like something to drink, Mary?

Mary: That’d be wonderful. I’d like some tea, please.

Betty: (Goes into kitchen…is fumbling with a couple pans) So how have John and the children been doing lately?

Mary: Good—swell in fact.

Betty: (Puts kettle on stove) Well that’s good to hear. How are Susan’s piano lessons?

Mary: Well, she’s struggling a bit with the harder pieces, but I just tell her that I practiced piano when I was a little girl and everyone loved me for it.

Betty: I always wished I had a daughter. But I’m sure if you keep pushing her, she’ll be just as fine as you are.

Mary: Maybe someday.

Betty: (Returns with two cups of tea and sets one down before Mary) It’s a bit hot. I don’t want you burning your tongue.

Mary: (Cautiously takes a sip of tea) How have Fred Jr. and Michael been? Are they still good schoolchildren?

Betty: (Sips her tea) You bet. Fred won’t have it any other way.

Mary: You know, I’m almost afraid to say this…

Betty: Say what?

Mary: I’m thinking about hiring a nanny for the children.

Betty: (Shocked) A nanny? But you’re such a wonderful mother.

Mary: Maybe. But sometimes driving them to school and to Boy Scout meetings and brownie bake-offs gets tiring.

Betty: I know what you mean. But does that really call for a nanny?

Mary: I just…I just think that maybe I’d feel a little better if I got more sleep is all.

Betty: How many hours do you get a night?

Mary: Well, six or seven if my newest doesn’t start crying in the middle of the night.

Betty: (Sips tea) That’s how Fred Jr. was…always crying and begging for attention.

Mary: I’m starting to wonder if sleep is even my problem then.

Betty: Well it must be! What else could explain your problem?

Mary: (Sighs noticeably) Oh, I don’t know Betty. Sometimes I just fall asleep feeling like I haven’t done anything worthwhile.

Betty: (Encouragingly) Why, of course you have! Your house is spotless, your children are happy, and John has a great job that provides for your family.

Mary: Yes, yes, I know that. But before I fall asleep sometimes I get this kind of aching feeling in my chest—like I’m scared or something.

Betty: What would you be afraid of?

Mary: I just don’t know. But as I lie there, I ask myself why I don’t feel as happy as the women in those fancy catalogues.

Betty: You’re always so happy though!

Mary: Don’t you ever just put on an act so no one suspects anything?

Betty: (Pausing) Yes, sometimes.

Mary: Well it’s like that! Like that exactly.

Betty: I guess that sometimes I just don’t feel like I’ve done anything with my life. Is that how you feel before going to bed?

Mary: (Nods) Mmhmm. When I got married at eighteen, I had only barely graduated. I wanted to get a degree in English.

Betty: Why didn’t you?

Mary: Well because everyone always told me that a good girl marries the right man and raises a family very early in her life. That way she can have a bigger family.

Betty: Is that what you want?

Mary: (Sighing noticeably again) That’s what I’m supposed to want.

Betty: Supposed to want?

Mary: Yes! Isn’t that what everyone tells you—marry young and be an idle wife?

Betty: That’s exactly what they tell me. I’d tell my daughter that too…if I had one that is.

Mary: See? Didn’t you ever want to be something more than a housewife?

Betty: Well, I kind of always wanted to be in the pictures. (Surprised) I think I get what you’re saying now, Mary. But…but…I just don’t know. I’ve never thought about it before.

Betty: That’s because no one’s told you to think about it before.

Mary: Good point.

Betty: I…I just can’t explain it. I’m a fool I think.

Mary. Oh you’re wonderful. I think, though, that you aren’t alone.

Betty: Well gosh, what do you mean?

Mary: I think a lot of housewives feel this way. But what do we do about it?

Betty: Buy more clothes.

Mary: And more appliances.

Betty: And have more kids.

Mary: And cook more meals.

Betty: Ah it’s all so tedious! This is a positively awful way to live your life.

Mary: Exactly.

Betty: (Excitedly) I don’t want to have to cook and clean and serve my husband and children all day. And most of all, I don’t want to have to pretend to enjoy it.

Mary: This is blasphemous. This isn’t what our mothers taught us, Betty. Pretty soon we’ll be just as bad as those career women.

Betty: (Gasps) Gosh no. I don’t think that at all.

Mary: But for as unacceptable as a woman with a job is, I bet you, yes sir, they don’t feel like this.

Betty: (Wistfully) I bet they don’t feel empty without a new dress or a new toaster. I don’t want dresses and toasters. I want something else entirely.

Mary: Listen…(Leans in and whispers) Susan Hinkey’s mother, Dorothy, told me about this same thing.

Betty: (Gasps) Oh really?

Mary: Yes, but don’t you go gossiping. I don’t want my reputation ruined.

Betty: Oh right, right.

Mary: (Glances at watch) Oh look at the time! I simply must get home to start supper.

Betty: (Walks Mary to the door) I understand completely.

Mary: Thanks an awful lot for the tea.

Betty: Well it was my pleasure after you brought over that wonderful banana nut bread. Your children are lucky to have a mother like you.

Mary: Oh, I do what I can.

Betty: I’ll see you at this week’s PTA meeting.

Mary: Good night.

Betty shuts door then leans against it, sighing. She walks to the living room table, grabs the tea, and washes it in the kitchen. The door opens.

Fred: Honey, I’m home!

Betty: (Dutifully walks over and pecks him on the cheek) How was work today?

Fred: Swell, swell. What’s for dinner, sweetheart? (Gives coat and hat to Betty who puts it on stand)

Betty: I put a roast in the oven a while ago. (They start walking to the kitchen) Mary Cranmer brought us banana nut bread also. I’m sure the children will enjoy that.

Fred: I bet they will. (Sniffs) Smells delicious. What did you do all day, Betty?

Betty: (Checks oven) Well after you and the children left, I dusted a bit then cleaned the living room. Then I played bridge with the girls until the children came home from school.

Fred: Where are the little ruffians?

Betty: (Laughs) They’re at Bobby Miller’s house. They’ve been over there since four maybe. They should be home for dinner any second now.

Children—Fred Jr. and Bobby run into the house

Betty: Look at you boys! Covered in dirt! (Blots napkin and tries to wash dirt from the side of Bobby’s face)

Bobby: Mom, stop that!

Fred Jr.: We were playin’ cowboys and Indians all day with Bobby and the Ferguson boys.

Fred: (Sits at the table reading the paper) And who won?

Bobby: (In triumph) We did o’ course.

Fred Jr.: Did not!

Bobby: Did too!

Fred Jr.: Did not!

Bobby: Did too times infinity!

Betty: (Laughs) Boys, boys. Your father’s probably very exhausted from his day at work. Let’s try to be quieter.

Bobby: (Crosses arms over chest) OK, Mom.

Oven bell rings

Betty: Oh! The roast’s done. (Takes roast out of the oven, slices it, and begins to set the food on the table)

Everyone sits down

Fred: Wow, this looks wonderful, dear. You really did inherit your mother’s cooking skills you know.

Betty: (Bashfully) Oh don’t flatter me, Fred. Every housewife can cook a roast.

Fred: Well yours is the best one in the neighborhood. Where would I be without a wife like you?

The food is passed around. Everyone takes a fair share

Bobby: Ms. Scott said I had the very best essay in the whole class.

Fred Jr.: You did not. I did.

Bobby: That’s not true at all! I did.

Fred Jr.: You did not.

Bobby: I did too!

Betty: Boys, hush!

Fred: Your mother slaved away this whole afternoon in the kitchen to make you this. Let’s at least eat instead of bicker.

Fred Jr.: (Grumpily crosses arms over chest) Fine.

Betty: (Defensively) I didn’t slave away all afternoon in the kitchen. Mary came over for a bit and we had a nice talk.

Fred: Well, boy, this sure tastes like you did.

Betty: But I didn’t, dear. I did more than make supper.

Fred: (Looks around) I noticed the living room and kitchen are top-notch clean just like in those catalogues. The house looks beautiful, honey.

Betty: All houses on this block look beautiful.

Fred: But ours is the most beautiful.

Betty: They are all the same, Fred. Each layout is almost identical to the next.

Fred: It’s more efficient that way. For all those home journals you flip through, I would have thought you would have picked up on that by now. That way guests will know where everything is.

Betty: …Yes, I suppose.

Everyone eats in silence

Betty: You know, Fred, you don’t have to belittle me all the time.

Fred: (Grudgingly) Honey, I don’t belittle you.

Betty: You just did. Did you not catch that? Did you not…pick up on that by now?

Fred: I really wish this wasn’t a topic at dinner.

Betty: Maybe it ought to be.

Fred: (Angrily) Maybe what ought to be?

Betty: (Sighs loudly) I don’t know, Fred. I don’t know what I’m talking about.

Fred: (Angrily…eats angrily too) Neither do I.

Children clear their plates

Fred Jr.: Mom, we’re going back to a-play cowboys and Indians at Bobby’s house.

Betty: Alright boys, have a wonderful time. If it gets the least bit cold, I want you to come in you know. I don’t want my beloveds catching a cold.

Children run out door

Betty: (Clears her and Fred’s plate. Begins to wash them) I’ve been feeling so strangely lately.

Fred: I can tell. Are you pregnant again?

Betty: No not at all. It’s definitely something more.

Fred: Well, what?

Betty: Fred, (puts down plate and turns to him) I can’t believe that you think all I do with my day is clean and cook.

Fred: You play bridge too. With the girls.

Betty: I do more. I want to do even more too!

Fred: (Stands up) What are you talking about?

Betty: When I was young, I wanted to be in the pictures—

Fred: (Interrupts her) So did every other girl.

Betty: (Angrily) Don’t interrupt me, Fred. I wanted to be in the pictures. And I went to college too—I was going to be a girl with a brain. I was going to have smarts. Then I met you. And you were wonderful, don’t get me wrong.

Fred: Yes and?

Betty: (After pause) …And I always reflect on my choice and I always wish I could have made more of my life.

Fred: Honey, what are you talking about? You have a beautiful home and children, you’re the top person of the PTA, and the community loves you. That’s making something of your life.

Betty: (Sadly, desperately almost) No it’s not. Not at all. That’s occupation housewife.

Fred: Is occupation housewife a bad thing? I thought you enjoyed it.

Betty: I do, I do. I just wish there was something to fill what I’m missing—whatever it is.

Fred: We could have another baby.

Betty: No that’s not it.

Fred: That refrigerator isn’t looking all that swell. We could buy a new one!

Betty: No, no, no. Why won’t you think more of me? Why do you think I’ll be appeased by a new appliance or a new baby?

Fred: Isn’t that what all women want?

Betty: No.

Fred: (Sarcastically) Ooh…I forgot…there are those career women. Betty, if you are thinking about going into the workforce, then I think you should see a therapist.

Betty: How dare you! (Slaps him) Life is more about cooking and cleaning and having babies. Why can’t you understand this?

Fred: (Angrily) Well that’s it. I’m going to bed. I hope you will have forgotten all this in the morning.

Betty: I’m going to do something. I may even go back to college.

Fred: (Throws arms up in the air) Fine by me! I’ll be the laughingstock of the whole community.

Betty: (Hurt) Fine. But don’t you talk to me like that. Never again.

Fred: I’ll talk to you however I like. You’re my wife!

Betty: Meaning I am not your property. I am not something to be caught, branded, and placed on a pedestal. I want a change—a revolution even—and other women want it too. And if you don’t like it, then fine.

Fred: Betty!

Plate suddenly drops and shatters against the black and white floor tile. Lights dim.