This isn’t going to be one of those posts about “Tips for a Tight Fitting Ironing Board Cover” or about “How to Iron a Shirt like a Pro“. It’s not that kind of Monday, folks.
No, this is about my utter loathing of irons and ironing boards.
I hate ironing. I like my clothes to be wrinkle free as much as the next gal but there are about a million and two lengths (Dry cleaners! Hanging them in the bathroom while I shower! Refusing to buy anything that isn’t dubbed “wrinkle free”!) I will go through before I fire up the ol’ iron. I enjoy most home/domestic pursuits but I draw the line at ironing.
I blame it on an ex-boyfriend who was a huge jerk about the way I ironed his shirts. Because apparently he invented ironing. Right around the time my 21 year old eager-to-please self realized he should be doing his own flipping ironing was when I realized that he could take his love of ironing (and everything else) and shove it.
But I digress.
I don’t have an office job that requires starched anything. And there’s a dry cleaner in my apartment building and The Lee’s who run it, God bless them, are awesome so problem solved. However, Ryan recently suggested we pick up an ironing board to “touch up” things that get wrinkled in the closet because we do own an iron and, well, I guess that iron needed a friend to get the job done.
This request went largely ignored because refusing to lug an ironing board on public transit was a legit excuse.
But during a trip to Bed, Bath and freakin’ Beyond this weekend with the car, my excuses ran out. And while Ryan does not expect me to actually touch the iron and has assumed all responsibility (in writing) for the de-wrinkling in our life, I now have an ironing board in our bedroom that I CANNOT FIGURE OUT HOW TO CLOSE!
There it is, in all of its huge, in my way, annoying glory.
I have pulled strings and loose looking metal rods and stepped on the ends…no luck. The damn thing is still upright.
Ryan will be home soon and better have a solution (the man has a master’s in engineering- he better have a solution) but until then, I will be basking in what I have always known to be true:
I am right and ironing sucks.