Now, at first it may seem that Deanna is a reactionary fantasy straight out of Doris Day movie or a sixties sitcom, but that's only because we're using something called objective reason. If you saw the world the way you were supposed to, like Lynn and her Lynnions do, you'd realize that you and I call a simpering child-woman who stands aroung quietly sniveling and whining while her overgrown ten-year-old husband sticks her with the children while he plays with his friends and witlessly risks his safety for a piece of consumer electronics is magically transformed into the ideal Mother of Tomorrow, thereby earning her just praise and hossanas in the Church of Foob. Especially since in Lynn's eyes it's only 1961 and a bit.
Her understandable, if not exactly excusable, refusal to admit times and manners have changed in her almost sixty years on this planet have worked their Magic on the infamous Granthony. You gotta realize this kind of clingy, manipulative, shallow, dish-water dull plodder *IS* what they called a 'dynamic young go-getter' back when people used that phrase without ironic laughter. The fact that they seem to have to stuck her husband, John, in a mimeograph (photocopiers are new-fangled and BAD) to create the guy only increases his luster in the the eyes of John the Bland and Eleanor the Smug. A lesser place on the pantheon is reserved for Ted the Sacred Non-entity, Moira the Inheritor, Lovely the benign cultural stereotype and Josef, the kindly Bohemian. For their acts of kindness in encouraging the Foobs, steering them away from the siren song of the nonFoob world and confirming the sacred principles of Foobishness, they will be rewarded in the end with peace, prosperity, a rancher in suburbia, a self-cleaning oven and furniture permanently encased in plastic 'for company.' Valiantly do they struggle, for Foobishness is constantly at risk from the evil-doers of this world and their Satanic claim 'What's sauce for the Foob is sauce for the gander.'