"She must know how to cook," Mr. Takagi pursued the subject, "and also know how to run the house, look after the children, arrange the flowers, sew, et cetera, et cetera. This, after all, is normal, isn't it?" I mumbled something about the twentieth century and women having outside interests, but he cut me short. "Twentieth century or not, the woman's place is in the home. As far as women are concerned, there's no progress. The more emancipated you allow them to become, the less joy they are for their husbands. When I selected my wife from twelve candidates, she was not the most beautiful one. But old-fashioned -yes. She comes from a food home, you can see that for yourself." Mrs. Takagi smiled, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. She must have realized the monstrosity of taking such an active part of the conversation, because she picked up the empty pitcher of sake and fled to the kitchen.
I would refuse to do the et ceteras. I'm not Japanese wife material.
The Far Eastern Epicure, 1958, Maria Kozslik Donovan
