Tell me, how would you like to have life served up to you? The newest neophyte among the Madison Avenue ad men will tell you. Every word of copy that they write promises to fulfill what they consider your deepest yearnings. You want it soft, just as soft as Puff facial tissues. You want it comfortable. You want it secure. You want to live in a kind of bovine, cud-chewing complacency, comfort, and contentment. You want to be born without labor pain to your mother, to live in a computerized, automated Utopia, where the temperature never varies two degrees in either direction from your most comfortable norm. Our derrieres will be cushioned with fat and cradled in sponge rubber. Instead of taking care of our homes, our homes will take care of us. Appliances will make child’s play of every hous…