Once upon a time, in statistically perfect suburbia, there lived a family called the Cleavers. The Cleavers had two kids (well actually it should be two kids plus an arm and a tongue of a third to round things out to the required 2.2, but that would be illegal and a little gross), a pet (let's call him Spot, a three-pound Pomeranian that the neighbour's 113-pound rottweiler would give Beaver's left arm to eat), a fence (white picket, six coats of oil-based "Arctic Sheen" and counting), two cars (well, three if you count Ward's '68 GT 350 which he liked to let loose only on weekends), a 19-foot fiberglass fishing boat (and a Jet Ski for Wally), a Harley Davidson Dyna Glide, a Rototiller, a lawnmower, a snow blower, a leaf blower, a hedge trimmer, a power washer, six pairs of skis, five lawn chairs, three toasters, two microwaves, four TVs, 350 CDs, eight computers, six telephones (two land lines, two cordless, two cellular), one freezer, two fridges, and a two-hundred-dollar coffee maker that would make a triple latte with goat's milk, if you had the urge.

Nothing was second best for the Cleavers, but there were always the Haskells to worry about.

Ah, the Haskells...sure they were drinking Tibetan cappuccinos before everyone else on the block, but a composter? Yes, there goes Eddie again, smelly potato peels and peach pits in hand, fruit flies in tow, off to that damn composter. Okay let's get one, yes a big one...sure, if it needs worms, get worms! What, a garden too?! Christ, do you want Beaver bitten by wasps?! I don't care how old he is...fine, a garden, but Wally tends it! Lazy little twerp....

Then one day June saw the Haskells have their air-conditioner removed, and wondered to herself, why? Sure, there were all those stories of potential rolling brown-outs, but they'd never really had one, and Beaver would break out in hives if he didn't have an air-conditioner. "But Mrs. Cleaver, don't you know how much energy they use?" Eddie told her over a plate of cookies with cold milk. "Why, all that energy use pollutes the eco-system." June always thought Eddie was very bright, and as she put his dish and glass into her new, whisper quiet dishwasher, she made a note to herself to talk to Ward about it that night.

"No air-conditioning?!" Ward almost choked on his Black Angus steak (USDA prime), took a sip of his French Merlot, and then fought the urge to spit the lot of it over their hand-woven cotton tablecloth from India. "Beaver will melt! Look at him, he's already sweating!"

Poor Beaver just turned away, pulled out his Game Boy, and tried to ignore his father, who, quite frankly, never sorted the cans from the plastic and was a constant source of embarrassment.

But June was firm, and passed Ward the newspaper, with the article on energy conservation highlighted for him. June was always organized.

"Alright, I guess we have to do our part," Ward said, clearly sweating himself. "I'll have it pulled tomorrow, and if I hear one more whimper from you, Wally, it's off to military school! Beaver, stop crying."

"That was my Game Boy, Dad."

"Shut up, and eat your vegetables."

So the next day the Cleavers got rid of their air-conditioner, and while the Beaver required cold compresses and intensive medication, one and all not only got through the summer, but even put one over on the Haskells. Yes, the Cleavers would be the first on their street to use low-wattage Christmas lights that winter!

"You know, Beave, I've got to hand it to that Eddie. Sure the little bugger steals our compost, but if it weren't for him, we wouldn't be helping the environment. I really learned a lesson there. We have to take care of Mother Nature, don't we, Beave?"

"Yes, Dad."

"So the cans really do go into a separate bin?"

"Just drive, Dad."

And so suburbia settled down and lived happily ever after, at least until the Haskells started to renovate their house with imported, organically grown Jatoba hardwood flooring from Brazil....