Whoever says that wrinkles are “bad” should be hit repeatedly in the face with a scorching hot iron.
Wikipedia said ironing was “invented” so long ago in China, that no one is sure who or when it started. Fuck the Chinese and their goddamn civilization… These are the same people who brought us writing on grains of rice and chop sticks. Stop it. You are not helping.
Some American invented the electric iron in the 19th Century. Let’s exhume that Yankee-Doodle-Do-the-Ironing, just so we can kick his corpse.
The whole fashion industry is a waste of time, money and resources, and when I’m world dictator, that bullshit will be banned.
… Alright, no one else is going that far? I get it. I like cleavage too. But can’t we all agree to stop wasting our lives and put an end this hot nightmare?
Who wants to iron and thinks it’s time well spent?
The Savages (my in-laws), that’s who.
They are the first to judge if there’s a wrinkly shirt or a crooked crease.
The biggest fight in our marriage over the past 5 years has been over pillow cases. PILLOW CASES…
I say, take them straight out of the dryer and put them on the pillows. No folding, no storage in a closet. Just one set of pillows and pillow cases. DONE.
Life with the wife used to be another story. Pillow cases had to be ironed (Savage rules). If I tried to put pillow cases straight on the pillows, they were summarily removed and replaced with pillow cases straight out of the closet that have been ironed to a screeching crease.
The cotton was scalded to a fine point, and I was scolded for questioning the wisdom of such a waste of time and energy.
Pillows are covered by all sorts of other shit when the bed is made:
- the sheets
- the bedspread
- and the throw pillows (FUCKING THROW PILLOWS).
10 minutes after I put my head on the pillow, no human could tell if it had ever been ironed or not. But OK honey, I’m the weird one…
The wife, her mother (the House Elf) and her Aunt all have scars where a hot iron has dropped on something or burnt a part of their bodies. But they still keep ironing pillow cases, pants and shirts until the collars are covered in little burn marks.
If this was a job site, OHSA would have shut it down long ago. It’s a steaming hot, 2-pound, unstable triangle precariously balanced on a wobbly board held up with rusty, bent, folding sticks.
Sure let the little kids run around under the iron – that’s a great idea. It’s amazing every Savage child doesn’t have plates in their big bulbous heads.
Miracle of Marriage
In the last 3 years, I have been witness to the biggest miracle of marriage… As the Boy was planning his own marriage and going to have a kid and we were contemplating retirement, the wife changed her mind.
She stopped ironing the pillow cases. It was hard for her at first. I could see her fingers twitch as we laid out the cases from the dryer and shoved pillows into their gapping mouths. But month over month, it has gotten easier for her. I’ve said very little.
“Looks good.” I say when we are done. “feels good” when we snuggle into the clean sheets.
Let this be a lesson to all you young couples. Change can come in your marriage. In my case it only took 35 years of incessant whining to end this nightmare of ironing… now can we talk about making the bed “every day?”
I originally published a version of this story in 2017 — but that was a pre-miracle post. I waited more than a year after the ironing ceased to see if this new miracle was going to stick.
Let’s hope, nay pray. Pray, I say, to your non-existent God… This bullshit story doesn’t descend to a reactionary end and resurrect the evil iron.
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