H E L P M E.
It’s happened. It’s like Invasion of the Body Snatchers, with a cruel twist. You better sit down.
Sunday morning, my daughter TG donned a cute top that was nevertheless wrinkly. I remarked as much, and she said, in the harried and desperate way that only young mothers of three rambunctious rugrats can, “I know." When I gave her my WTF-you're-wearing-it-anyway? look, she added, "Did you want to iron it for me?”
Iron? Aaaaaaah-ha-ha-ha-ha! I speet on thees archaic beast called the iron. It does not contain push buttons which engage any “do it FOR me” tasks. There is no “GO” button. It does not give me immediate access to friends and family. It does not make my life easier, quicker, better. It does not make me feel in touch with my inner spiritual giant, it does not make me want to dance, and it doesn’t provide even a smidgeon of instant gratification. No, this beast is the equivalent of manual labor. I know. I can't even believe those two words came out of my mouth. I am not about manual anything--not unless it comes with batteries and three speeds.
And yet . . . as my eyes glazed over with sucralose shades of my Mommy Life Past, this foreign word oozed out of my mouth like putrid slime: “Ye-e-e-e-s-s-s-s.”
TG had that shirt over her head and in my face in .000523 seconds flat. “Thanks, Mom.”
And there I was all retro-maternal, wrinkled shirt in hand, heading dazedly downstairs to find the beast and its wobbly metal counterpart on stilts. I’m surprised that in my stupor I didn’t trip and fall, head over heels in a viral spin-out, and sprain my wrist so as to have a convenient excuse for not making good on my offer. Alas, I was THAT overcome and confused with myself. Plus, I couldn’t even remember where I last saw the beast. Didn’t we throw the last one out with the eight-tracks?
Here’s the part that will just make you want to curl into the fetal position, people. After I dutifully ironed my daughter’s quite lovely blouse (notice how it was transformed from an ordinary top), I—I can hardly say it—I got excited at how easily domesticity took shape inside me and then the aliens took over my body completely. It was as if I'd turned into Martha Fucking Stewart! And then . . . and then? I hurried to my closet and pulled out five blouses that I have been wearing with that right-out-of-the-dryer look. And then? I ironed them!!
OMFG! I have been beast-slapped. And all because of Martha, Martha, Martha! Bitch! People, this matter is pressing! What should I do?
Oh, ew. I feel like I've been body-spritzed with starch. Plus, I can't wear those blouses now because . . . they'll get wrinkled!
.
The Elusive Spirit of Christmas
2 days ago
47 comments:
Love the Brady Bunch reference. OMG ironing... ;) Kevin thinks I am nuts buyt I take all his work shirts to the dry-cleaners to get pressed.
Great post!!!
I love to iron. Ok, that's a little strong. I dread doing it, but when I do actually iron, I love to watch the wrinkles disappear and see the final product!
I'm astounded! That would never happen to me. I simply couldn't bear to iron one inch more fabric than is necessary.
love to iron.... really? its only fun if you dont have to do it!!!!
"This matter is pressing!" Haha. I can't stand around and do, like, a week's worth of ironing, but I never mind doing a couple of pieces. There is a sense of accomplishment, plus I think I hear my mom's voice in my inner ear telling me, "first do the collar, then the sleeves"...etc. If only I felt the same about cleaning.
I don't believe in ironing. It's against my religion or something like that. However, if you still feel like ironing, you're welcome to come visit me in The OC and tackle my closet.
Deep breath darling. You can overcome, yes you can... Turn your back and walk away.
This matter is pressing? Har. Good one!
Seriously, you're making this up, right?
Between dry cleaners and wrinkle-free clothing and hanging stuff up right out of the dryer, I'm covered. Plus I like wrinkles, except in my own skin.
Secretia
I'm going to share a secret.
Even though I own both an iron and an ironing board, I never use them.
Instead I put the hot water on full-blast in my shower and hang the offending article of clothing on a dry surface, hoping that the wrinkles will smooth in my self made steam room.
Sometimes it works. How's that for both lazy and inefficient.
hummm guess you don't want to know I even iron my tee shirts...! Oh, well I know you looked spiffy for 5 days with you freshly ironed shirts!
Get Thee To A Dollar STORE! Buy your dinner at the WalMart cafe! SWEAT PANTS. MUST PUT ON SWEAT PANTS and watch some daytime telly while bashing a bag of chocolate covered pretzels...
it's grim, but the only way to exorcize the beast. good luck. we're pulling for you...
too much fun! (the post, not the ironing!) My daughters still tell stories of outgrowing blouses, they had placed on the ironing board. Come to think of it, those blouses may still be on the ironing board...I wonder if my grandgirls will fit into them by now. :)
~AM
Some claim that the house-wifely duties of the '50's can be somewhat Buddhist like in their execution...you meditate, if you will, on the task at hand and are one with the moment. Om. Let's just say that soooo doesn't work for me. It's suck work. And I hate it.
I stopped ironing years ago!
No ironing an indisputable rule in my house. I. Iron. Nothing. Except my will. Put your foot down. Like a Goddamn Donna Reed knockoff up in here . . .
My best ironing tool is my dryer. Just spritz a little water and throw in the dryer and all is well. Forget the beast. It's way too hot tempered and likes to let off a little too much steam for my taste.
Don't own an iron. No iron...no guilt. My daughter just assumes that we're supposed to look slightly disheveled at all times. It works for us.
My mother was the Ironing Queen. She used to iron to RELAX if you can imagine. Jeans even. Sheesh. I iron approximately every 6 months. I iron everything that needs it at that time & then that's it until the next 6 months. I have a sneaking suspicion that it would be easier to iron more frequently - but I refuse!
Some times it feels so good to do something that is oh-so wrong.
My clothes might fall apart if an iron touched them.
Heck, I don't even hang them up sometimes. They get washed, dried, and thrown in the drawer.
I think ironing might just be one of those things the Army ruined for me, like running 10 miles for no reason or spit shining shoes. Once one does these things 10,000, they don't wish to ever duplicate them again.
Step away from the iron. Call the haz-mat hot line and have the toxic thing removed. Embrace the wrinkle. The wrinkle is desirable.
I idolize you too much to let you do this to me...run while you still can...
I flat out love to iron. Gets me all hot and steamy. It's meditative for me. I say go for it. You're not required to iron. Do it till it feels like work.
By the way, my wife's definition of ironing something is throwing it in the dryer for 10 minutes.
Cheers,
SLC
I remember living in places, mostly in San Francisco, that had ironing boards in little cupboards that would then fold down from the wall. They were so cool. Now I'd have to drag out the huge iron beast which is worse than the actual ironing itself. I know some people that put on music and just zen out while ironing. Me?.. I've gotten used to the rumpled look.
I hate ironing lets hope this is temporary insanity and you snap out of it soon.
I have no idea what to do. I have an ironing man. See that? "MAN." Oh yeah baby.
LMAO!!!!! I hate to iron. And this weekend I ironed four shirts and two pairs of pants...all in the name of family pictures.
I took 2 white blouses out to take to the dry cleaners. I inspected each tag and knew that if I threw them in the wash I was going to have to iron them. I decided to iron them. Then not. They're now sitting on a couch, waiting for marching orders.
The only man I ever loved took his suit jacket out of a closet one night before we went out, handed it to me and said, "Can you iron this for me?" HORRIFIED I replied, "Sure."
Ahahahahaha! Oh, how I LOATHE that stupid heated iron contraption and it's corresponding plank of covered wood on stilts.
When I was little I loved it. My dad said he'd give me $0.50 for every shirt that I ironed, and because I needed money, I ironed every stinkin shirt in his closet! Yeah, he had to pay up for that shit. But I'm pretty sure that's when I lost my love for ironing. Right then and there. These days, wash and wear is something I seek out in clothing.
I don't own an ironing board. I don't know where the iron is. Maybe out in the garage. That is just the way it goes, you do all that work to iron something and yes, you hesitate to wear it because it will get friggin wrinkled! Your daughter better understand how much you do for her!
Oh dear, this is serious.
You approached the wobbly legged tyrant in the basement AND its wobbly legged counterpart?
Beware the vacuum, thats all the help I can offer.
You need Irene.
You're regressing. You need cocktails and debauchery fast to arrest this shocking habit.
"..Not unless it comes with batteries and three speeds.." Ha! High five!
Hubby does all the ironing around this place, it's the only time I allow him peace to watch his sport on telly - works a treat..(wink)
yeah I really hate to iron things only to get them wrinkled back up again! LOL
shit...funny!
I get an F in domestic duty. I do not iron. My boyfriend does all that...he is well trained (by his mother).
You're never actually cured of mommy-ness. It just goes into remission until someone forces an iron into your hand.
Which is why I use a steamer. It's like a magic wand, and I just pretend I'm a fashion show designer of something, happily giving models steam burns with my magic wand.
Last time I pulled out the iron, my three year-old son said,"Mama, what IS that?"
I was honest and said, "I don't know."
Love that last comment! LOL!
I admit that my husband and I iron just about everyday. That's only because our closet in the trailer is jam-packed and our clothes are always wrinkled so we have no choice but to iron before we wear the clothes. I'm glad, though, that said husband is an equal opportunity ironer!
Once a year I get this crazy look in my eyes. I like to dust off the ironing board, fill up the iron, get out the bottle of starch that has lasted 12 years and iron the hell out of everything that's not moving.
Yep, that pretty much does it for another year.
My kids thought our ironing board was a surfboard when I took it out recently. They're 6 & 8 and had never seen it before...
Darling girl, you are too funny, no actually just right funny. I love your observations on situations, you make me giggle, gafaw and belly laugh. It's no wonder your as funny as you are if you lived in Cedar Crest.....strange folks there on the other side of the mountain. Tee Hee. Artsy Fartsy it is, shall we cruise up the road a bit and venture into Madrid. SM and I spent new years eve in the bedroom over the coffee shop there one year. Talk about stranger than fiction....too weird but then who would do that right?
Happy St. Patty's to ya lovely one ((((hugs)))) until next time
My local dry cleaner presses shirts for $1. Let me say that again - $1. I now keep my iron under my bed as a potential weapon against intruders.
And THAT is why I do not iron, unless death is imminent, and even then...
I don't iron. Not now. Not after years of ironing EVERYTHING. Bed linen, towels, underwear and socks. Now I work 40 hours a week I decided not to iron anything but my son's school gear. I just put everything away unironed.
Recently I went to work wearing an unironed t-shirt and jeans. Nobody said anything. It was great.
But my hair was blow dried perfectly and I had make up on. Can't let the standards drop too low.
"this matter is pressing" good one. I hate ironing. I think part of it is I hate the ironing board cover. No. that's not it. I just hate it.
You lost me with the word "iron." Can you explain, please?
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