I was ironing this morning. My husband has an interview this week, and he needed a shirt ironed, to go with his suit.
I hate ironing. With a passion.
I tried to pass it off on my oldest daughter last week, but, being a teenager, she conveniently kept forgetting to do it. So I did it today.
It’s not that I don’t know how to iron. I do. My mom taught me, and I did it in Home Economics class in 7th grade. Do they even still have Home Ec class? I just found out the other day that Health class in Jr. High isn’t a requirement anymore. Sad.
Anyway, I know how to iron. Maybe it’s my OCD nature that makes me hate ironing. You know those irrational thoughts, “If I don’t get this one wrinkle out, something bad will happen.” And getting every single wrinkle out is completely impossible. You iron one sleeve, then the other. You look back at the first sleeve, after you’ve ironed part of the shirt, and it doesn’t look so cleanly pressed anymore. That drives me C R A Z Y. So, yeah, I iron it again. I’m a perfectionist, so that doesn’t help either.
Do you see why I hate ironing so much?
My mom irons my dad’s shirts for work all the time. She watches TV while doing it. I’m sure most wives can accomplish this feat. Not me. How she has the patience to iron that huge stack of shirts is beyond me. Maybe it’s relaxing for some women. I don’t know.
I rarely have to iron though. I’m just complaining. Do you like ironing? If you do, why?