Now that I have finished swallowing the ombre cake that I threw up in my mouth, I can write this review. Who is this Brit woman? Is she delusional? Is she a Disney character? Maybe both? Before this day, I have never read 400 pages of such dogged, Crayola-colored, shallow optimism. First off, GIRL, CHECK YOUR PRIVILEGE. It’s all fine and dandy that you have an oven that can sense how done your food is, and a 3D printer in your own home, but quit acting like everyone else is as rich and techy as you are. Second, how on earth can you write a book about homemaking and gloss over its gendered history as though we’re all fine and dandy now? As though we actually do “have it all”? After citing that recent statistic about how working women still do an average of 28 hours of housework per week (compared with working men’s 16), she has this to say: “And might I also give major props to the women who are working full-time jobs and still doing 28 hours of household work per week?” This, after congratulating men at large for “contributing more often.” Gah! And, despite spending a couple of pages perfunctorily booing mid-century women’s magazines, Miz Brit still spends two chapters telling us how to find our body type, paint polka-dots on our fingernails, and fix runs in our pantyhose. Are you kidding me? Not only is this book useless and mildly offensive, I can’t even tell who the audience is, beside that it’s definitely ladies. Techy ladies? Crafty ladies? Red-lipstick-and-pumps ladies? I have no clue, but this particular lady is returning Homemakers immediately to the library.