Why I hate ironing.
I'm impatient, the irons too heavy, it's boring, and why the hell should I?
A few years ago, my husband and I came to the agreement that because I am responsible for most of the domestic chores as well as holding down a full-time job and making sure my children eat, also addressing the fact that I was being questioned on the crispness of my ironing technique; I lost my shit. After tearing down the hallway, husband thought it a better idea to take over this task.
Sunday nights at our house, the ironing board comes out (even though there is plenty of room in the laundry), the TV channel is on MTV and husband happily irons while singing away, periodically calling to offspring to bring wooden coat hangers and to collect the newly ironed clothes.
This is my small window of what it's like when the menial chores are on the other foot. This is the opportunity to sit and happily do whatever I feel without the guilt associated that we women sometimes place upon ourselves. The fact that he wizzes through it at lightning speed astonishes me. I put it down to the fact that physics is on his side. Being over six feet, he has an advantage over my five-foot something-ness.
I admit I would instead vacuum a small half-pitch football field than iron.
Before the children came along and husband and I worked sixty plus hours per week, I had Tom, my ironing man. He brought sanity to my life when each week, I gladly handed him the wicker basket filled with freshly washed clothes which would be delivered the next day ironed, folded, and hung on the hangers I supplied (I hate those horrible wire ones). Tom, though, realised there was not much money to be made ironing and delivering people's washing, and as such, Tom left me and apparently a few other women in our area. We cried for Tom over our lattes at the nearby café.
My friends don't share my hatred of ironing, not when you have a Linda Star, when you are an ironing expert or when your mother-in-law irons for you…
I could very well look for another Tom, but what's the point when husband so clearly enjoys his freshly ironed underwear.
#satire #everydaylife #domesticobservation