Life, 1918-12-05 · page 22 of 76
Life — December 5, 1918 — page 22: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains three distinct satirical pieces about gender relations and domestic life, likely from the WWI era (referenced by "Busy War Worker"). **"A Bengalese Love Song"**: A mock-exotic poem mocking both Orientalism and women's domestic frustrations. The speaker ironically idealizes her husband while describing his ingratitude, her thankless housework, and his drunkenness. The satire targets husbands' unreasonable expectations—they demand cheerfulness and perfect meals while offering only criticism and neglect. The accompanying illustration shows a woman at a doorway greeting her husband. **War Worker Cartoon**: Shows a child telling a caller the mother won't be home until Saturday because she's been away working (wartime factory work). This references women's expanded roles during WWI. **"Purely Feminine"**: A joke about female logic. A philosopher notes the apparent contradiction: wives rage when husbands arrive two hours late, but welcome them warmly after two-year absences. The humor targets women as "peculiar" and illogical, though ironically the joke may also critique male obliviousness to reasonable expectations. All three pieces employ humor to comment on marital tensions and changing gender roles.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Christmas Life A Bengalese Love Song (With apologies to the Mystic) HE light is growing yellow in the sky, and my husband will be coming home for dinner. I shall make him glad with nothing; yea, with nothing shall I make his heart leap. I shall flash before him with laughter and ripple with song ; I shall float in the dance as the little white clouds are floating up high in the heavens. But a gust of folly will overblow the gladness— He will call futile my desires to please him. He will not let me thrill with the winds and throb to the joy of the stars. He will reproach me with words that mean nothing. His wrath shall be to me as a leaf on the waters, Or as the voice of the breeze that went by yester summer, IL Why should I grovel in dust and clean up the dishes When I might sing as the winds and the waters are singing? Why should I stay here and tarry over the dinner— If the fowl is not dressed, or the rice is not done, do I mind it?. I who go forth with my feet rosy-white on the grasses? (Back in the house I can hear the low sounds of complain- ing, Crashing of broken utensils and splashing of water.) rt Happy and simple the way to the home of my lover. Splendidly. drunken is he; we shall drink there—drink, drink together ! This is the end of all labor—this is the glorious gospel: Go to the dogs and he drunken and merry. Caller: 1s your MOTHER AT Ho ‘ 3 a : Child of Busy War Worker: coopxess, No! sie wox'r BE AT HOME TO-DAY UNTIL ABOUT SATURDAY, SUE HASN'T GOT HOME YESTERDAY YET. IV What are the words that my 1 is saying this morning, _ Wild oaths profaning the delicate air of the springtime? Where is the sound of the lute that I heard in his accents— Where is the laughter that bubbled so softly at twi- light? Has he not feasted on roses and wine and caresses? Why should he fall in his madness and faint on the threshold? AL FOM. Purely Feminine R. WHEELER was a philosopher. “There is one thing I can't quite understand,” he arked to his friend Beaman. “What is bothering you now?” asked the friend. “Tf a man is two hours late arriving home his wife raises a regular row,” explained the philosopher, “ while if he is gone two years she will give him a royal welcome. Doctor: JUST MOVE UP A LITTLE CLOSER, PLEASE Women are certainly peculiar, Beaman.” comicbooks.com