Nina Lewis

Ironing stinks.

I can’t think of any other activity in the world that is more disgusting to me. Unless it’s eating beets. But eating beets doesn’t count because I can go my entire lifetime without eating those disgusting things but I can’t go a lifetime without ironing– unless I want to look disgusting.

Whence came my disdain, hatred, vehemence, abhorrence, antagonism, repugnance (and all of those other nifty words that you can find in Roget’s Thesaurus) for ironing?  It all started in the early days of my wedded bliss.

My wonderful husband was in the National Guard. A medical unit. A medical unit that required everyone to wear white uniforms made out of H.E.A.V.Y, cotton material. The heavy kind of cotton that canvas is made out of.

Of course his superior officers expected – nay demanded – those white uniforms to be pristinely pressed. And who was the lucky soul to press them? Me. (Remember, this was back in the day when wives meekly ironed their husband’s clothes. Boy, have things changed in my household over the years . . .)

Imagine me standing over a steaming iron, struggling to get the creases just right. To remove the wrinkles that the dryer embedded in.

Then came the blessed days of polyester. Wash. Dry. Hang up. Ironing not needed. How I long for those days.

Fast forward to today. Cotton is the ‘in’ fabric of the day. It’s natural. It’s better for us. It cuts down on smog, global warming, and health care costs. At least that’s what the Cotton Growers of America would have us believe.

It’s rare to find something that doesn’t need ironing. Even if the ad in the catalog or the label on the blouse shouts to the rooftops that no ironing is necessary, that’s a falsehood. You don’t have to iron it if you don’t care if you look like you’ve slept in your clothes for a month.

I have a friend who irons her Levis. Her freakin’ Levis!! I grew up wearing Levis to muck out the barn, haul hay, milk cows, irrigate, and other lady-like and prim and proper activities that I did while growing up on a farm. I’d rather have 100 bamboo shoots shoved under my fingernails than iron my Levis. Ironing Levis is just plain wrong.

So what burr under your saddle caused this rant against a simple activity such as ironing? you ask.

Having to iron my sweaters.

To me, a sweater is in the same category as coats and jackets. You don’t iron coats and jackets.  You shouldn’t have to iron sweaters. Their simple job is to keep me warm. My simple job is to hang them up and occasionally wash them.

But when my sweaters come out of the wash all shriveled up like a toothless old woman, it drives me berserk. I don’t want to look disheveled. I do have some dignity, you know. Because the sweaters come out of the wash so rumpled, and because my Type-A personality can’t stand to look sloppy, I iron my sweaters.

Oh, for the bygone days when sweaters were made out of acrylic and they would jump out of the dryer so unwrinkled and sing the Hallelujah Chorus. I miss them.

Anyone want two white sweaters?  They are yours for the asking.

Thank you for letting me rant. I feel so much better.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about several things that bring joy and happiness to my life. I’m going to post them. But first, I’ve got to share a little something.

Today is our oldest grandchild’s birthday. We visited him on Saturday. Here are two of my favorite pics from the day. Aren’t they just the sweetest??

Now. The things that I like. (Realize that tops on my list are my husband, children, and grandchildren. These things are what come next on the list.)

1. A steaming cup of hot chocolate
2. A steaming cup of my wassail
3. My pillow-top bed toasty and warm from the electric blanket
4. Tahiti
5. The delightfully warm water surrounding Tahiti
6. My snugly warm blanket that I wrap up in at home to watch videos
7. My snugly warm, fuzzy socks
8. My snugly warm velour lounge outfit
9. The heat from my Mac laptop on my legs

Can you tell the key theme running through these 9 things?  If you said ‘warm/hot,’ you get a gold star on your forehead!

(By any chance, can you tell that I’m getting tired of walking to work in the COLD weather?)