Whatever Happened to Ironing?

One of the first gifts Tom ever gave me was a cordless steam iron. He said it was the best he could do since he couldn't find an iron that would attach directly to my hand.

I am not afraid to iron. When I was a kid we ironed everything, including our hankies. For a while we even used a mangle to iron our sheets -- an antiquated monstrosity that we pulled away from the wall and plugged in. We'd fold our sheets in half and run them between the heated rollers of the mangle, pressing out the wrinkles, at the same time pressing in a few new ones. It didn't take us long to realize it wasn't really worth the trouble.

I've heard that there are people who don't even own an iron, but I myself am a rather recent convert to the "Why Iron?" club. Once my kids hit middle school I realized that I was doing them more social harm than good by ironing their jeans and t-shirts every day. These days I just try to shake things out well when they come out of the dryer, fold them up, and hope they don't end up in a heap once they get taken to their respective rooms. Sometimes, though, somebody wants a shirt that has been left in the dryer for two or three days. I can't just let him get it out and put it on -- I just can't. So I dampen a towel, throw it in with the clothes, and run the dryer for a few minutes. I pull out the shirt, snap it out briskly and hand it over with a smile and a "Here's your shirt. Have a nice day!"

Ah, sweet liberty! This has given me courage to venture out without a touch of make-up. I've even made a few mad dashes to the grocery store early in the morning, before I got my teeth brushed.

I may be about ready to give up ironing, but there's no way I'm getting rid of my ironing board. That's where I put all my unfinished projects when it's time to set the table for dinner!