As a child, I can remember shopping for clothes with my mom. I remember that I would find the thing I really wanted, then she would look at the tag on the shirt and protest against that choice because it had Dry clean only or she knew it would require ironing. There were those few precious times that even she could not resist the cute outfit and would let me splurge on it. Those times came more and more as I reached the age of ironing it myself.
I am not sure at what age, but I also remember as I got older and took on some of the house chores, ironing became my job for everyone. At first it was fun. I loved being the one responsible for ironing everyone's clothes. But with all jobs, the novelty of it wore off, and I began doing it less and less.
Today, I find myself also checking tags before I make a purchase to make sure that an iron won't be necessary for the upkeep of the item. I myself try to steer clear of dry clean only or fabric that will require ironing (cotton).
The past couple of days, Brenton has asked to iron his clothes for work. Being the consistently obedient Christian wife that I am (Smile) I pull out all the equipment with a smile- Yeah right! Typically, I check my watch, grunt, moan, and then in silence angrily go about ironing out the wrinkles in his pants and shirt, cussing him out in my head. Ok, it's not that bad, but I do start asking myself, there has to be a better and easier way to do this. I see now why companies advertise making "wrinkle proof" clothes- totally worth the money. Why does he always ask me to do this 10 minutes before he has to walk out the door or at 11pm at night. Then something morphs in my mind when the job is complete and I begin to hang the items back on the hanger- I find a weird sick sense of accomplishment and strangely I am proud that my man will look GOOD at work all because of ME!