How hard can it be to be a housewife, in the fifties? OK, they didnít have all the labour saving devices we have today, but they did have mechanical help, and that was the bet I agreed to, with those rather attractive, ladies.
I was to spend a week as a woman of the fifties, in one of their houses, a doddle, I mean, a twin tub instead of my automatic, but not down by the stream rubbing the clothes on bricks, a vacuum cleaner, and I enjoyed cooking, so no problem.
The first day was OK, yes, it was harder than I imagined, but not that bad. Some of the things they wore were uncomfortable and restrictive, like the corset, which the ladies insisted I wore, to get the true feeling of life as a female, of that era.
We went out, as they did then, and to save my blushes they took me to an all female club, and that was when things got really nasty; I am not female, and the owners of the club, found us out.
I was beaten, and made to act like a female for the duration of my punishment, with the threat of being made into one, if I failed.
Dear reader, this is my harrowing story.