This poor 1940s wife. She is being kept from Dave and his Happy Married Love because she suffers from what the Scientists refer to as "Stinkifus Cunticus."
That's right, ladies and gentlemen: this wife isn't getting a chance to perform her Wifely Duties for Dave because she smells like a tuna casserole. And Dave is sick and tired of craving potato chips after coitus! A cigarette, maybe. But potato chips? Who cares if they're called "Lay's"?
I mean, think about it, gents: would YOU be in the mood to give The Little Woman some Happy Married Love if all the fellas down at the office kept calling you "Mr. Pelican," or if your boss, that old sourpuss Mr. Jenkins, inquires nastily if he is actually paying you the salary you think you deserve, since you so obviously have been moonlighting as a fishmonger?
Lucky for Dave and his walking, talking fish taco, er, wife, she can douse her delicate self in chemicals, chemicals, and more chemicals. It's the 1940s, after all. Chemicals can solve any problem, even a nauseating case of rotten crotch! It's her patriotic duty to douche with industrial-strength solvents! It's the American way!
Thanks to Lysol, Dave's wife will have a pussy as fresh as school hallways, hospital sickrooms, and bus terminal bathrooms. Hooray for Happy Married Love!