I am going to come out and say it. I HATE ironing. Hate is a strong word, but I am fairly certain that hate, loathe, and despise are definitely not too strong to describe the art of ironing. I refuse to do it unless I am trying to impress someone. So, basically, I iron my clothes for job interviews.
My very classy, traditional mother DID teach me how to iron growing up. I believe that she would want you all to know that. (But mostly I am telling you so that she isn’t mad at me when she reads this.) The trouble is, it didn’t stick. I loved ironing at first, but that quickly wore off. I loved having a piece of clothing on the board, getting all the creases out and being able to see the fruit of my labor. But mere minutes after the impeccable garment was worn and performed the most basic of tasks, such as sitting or using my elbows, the wrinkles automagically REAPPEARED. What kind of torture is that?
So I just stopped. My husband values the look of crisp, collared shirts under his suits and has spent more time at the ironing board during our marriage than I have. More importantly, he knows better than to think I would fall on that sword for him and do his ironing. I can’t even do mine. Birthing our children. Done. Learning how to cook (I am mediocre at best). Done. Pretending to like the movies “Days of Thunder” and “Talladega Nights” as much as he. Done. Being supportive of his falling asleep many nights at 8:00 p.m. Done. But I draw the line at ironing. I was fine with my decision. Who needs ironing anyway, when you have a dryer and a straight iron for those stubborn shirt lapels?
But recently, a conversation at work has me thinking differently. When I walked into our school office yesterday, a parent asked me if I ironed. “Heck no,” I said. “Who has time for that?” She agreed with me. But then two other fine ladies who were also part of the conversation and are clearly winning in life commented that they, in fact, iron EVERYTHING they wear.
I don’t know what I said at this point. My mouth was on autopilot while my brain whizzed around with all the questions I wanted to ask. Like, “Do you iron your pants? Underwear? Shirts only? Iron everything when it comes out of the dryer? Marathon ironing? Or once a day for the outfit you are wearing?”
And then, “Now, WAIT JUST A DANG MINUTE. Are you telling me, that I should be ironing like other successful people? Are my clothes wrinkly?” Don’t answer that, Mom. Your standards are way too high. Here I was under the assumption that my peer group, who teeter on the edge of being millennials, chose not to iron because that seemed like awfully high maintenance. We all know that every woman has to sacrifice a little here and there to get it all done. Something has to give. And in my case, a lot (including ironing, showering, and sometimes makeup) has to give for ME to get it all done.
These two ladies, who look like they shower every day, do their hair and make up every day AND work full time are telling me that they iron their clothes, too. EVERYDAY. And for me, someone who sometimes can’t find the time to put socks on in the morning, I question what I am even doing.
Am I the only 30ish person that doesn’t iron? Do you all group message each other about my wrinkly clothes?
P.S. Just a reminder about the divide between my generation and my Mom’s. When she proofed this, she wrote next to my sentence about using my straight iron to put my stubborn shirt collars in their place, “What is this?” 🙂
