Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Ironing: def. v. The act of taking iron pills.
Really, this is pretty much the definition of ironing in Meanie’s house. Yes, I’m the one who runs to the dryer to get clothes out ASAP to avoid wrinklage. Yes, those are my kids who look a little ruffled when they get to school. Yes, those clothes in my closet have been only worn once because I won’t take the time to iron them.
I. Don’t. Iron. Jo does iron….sometimes…..usually about two minutes before we have to be somewhere very important. And it involves a lot of cursing, burning and general ugliness.
I now wonder about my own mother, who used to crank EastEnders and iron each individual’s underwear while she worked away. My own girls are most likely in awe of the neat little folded packages their underwear turn into after spending the night there (is that a lavender scent we smell Momma?)
I just can’t get into it. What I can get into is this
Are you kidding me? Did you know about this? Tell me all about it! I am your grasshopper, eager to learn of the mystical properties of this magical serum. I will spray away, I will exchange 10 bad environmental habits I have to partake in this wrinkle-releasing orgy.
How did I not know about this?