Have I mentioned recently how much I HATE to iron? We are talking real hate here, people. I mean hate like with the burning fire of a thousand hot suns. Hate, hate, hate.
In general, I don't iron my clothes. If something has to be ironed, I iron it about 2 minutes before fastening it on my body. These items seem to hang in my closet with very little usage. L is a bit more picky. He wants all of this clothes ironed before they are hung up, and he expects them to magically stay crisp looking. Sadly for him, he did not marry a person who has the gift of making clothes look crisp and neat. I feel as if I have accomplished something if they are not glaringly wrinkled.
I used to send all of his stuff to the cleaner's. I know, that is incredibly wasteful. But I tell you, it was TOTALLY worth it. He was happy, I was happy, the little person at the cleaner's was happy. Really, I was just doing my best to promote a healthy economy. Someone was probably laid-off by my becoming a stay-at-home mom.
And now, I must go and do some ironing, or else L might divorce me (I'm a little behind on that particular aspect my housekeeping regimen). If I had to iron as a full- time job, I think I would commit suicide.