My father is a snappy conservative dresser, and likes his creases sharp. Growing up, I remember my mom ironing Dad's shirts and his handkerchiefs. I don't think she ironed anything else in the entire house ever except as a step in sewing. Well, maybe; but not often.
When my dad was a bishop (in my church, bishops come from the congregation and usually serve between 3 and 7 years.) he would often come home from work, take off his pin stripe or pale blue oxford, slip into a white shirt, and head off to take care of his flock. Now we're talking two shirts a day.
Mom did it. Ironed up to 11 shirts a week, plus handkerchiefs.
When I was in college, I caught mom hiring out her ironing. Who can blame her, right?
Just as I was graduating, my parents marriage was falling apart, and I saw ironing as a metaphor for working on a relationship.
The night before we got married, I was hanging out at Clinton's house, and I ironed his shirt and his Dad's shirt and a couple other things. I decided I would never hire out the ironing.
2 months into our marriage, it was clear that my ironing commitment was bound for divorce.
Luckily, ironing does not absolutely equate to love.
1 year ago
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