You know what is worse than laundry? Dusting. But there is yet a more despicable chore than dusting. Ironing. I do not iron. Ever. Seriously.
This is how bad it is. I came into our marriage eight and half years ago with a bad iron and a broken ironing board. We eventually got rid of both and replaced only the iron … after a while when I felt like there should at least be one in the house just in case. Still I never used it. No lie.
Last year I did finally break out the iron for some reason that must have been special but I cannot remember. Kiki said “what’s that?”. Should I feel shame? I probably should but I do not.
I am forced to iron right now. All the clothes I am selling at the kids consignment sale are suppose to be ironed. I borrowed my mother-in-laws little ironing board and her iron (because I could not find mine). This was my set up, which I later moved to the living room floor in front of the t.v.
Why is ironing so despicable? Maybe it is because it is a pain in the neck. Literally. My neck hurts from looking down to iron. Why subject myself unnecessarily to pain?