Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Ironing Things Out

I hate ironing. Out of all the household tasks I tackle as a housewife, that is the only one I really mind. I would rather do dishes, laundry, mop floors or even scrub the toilets before I would iron. For that reason, I always seem to be behind on it and have a constant pile lurking in the living room, waiting for my attention. This drives my husband crazy, as it seems to be inevitable that whatever he was planning to wear is in the ironing pile. Monday morning was one of those days. He had been planning on wearing one of his blue shirts and they were ALL in the ironing pile. A bit irritated, he didn't exactly accuse me of being a lazy housekeeper, but he did get his point across that he would like me to step it up a bit on the ironing front.

I realize this aversion to ironing doesn't really affect me personally. Perhaps this all came about sub-consciously, but I don't own a single item of clothing that I iron. My dislike of blouses, which I had always attributed to the  five years I was forced to wear one as part of my Catholic school uniform, has kept me from ever purchasing one and over the years, I have made a particular effort never to buy any skirts, dresses or pants of a material that needs to be ironed, no matter how cute they may be.

So until I was married, I was pretty successful at avoiding this chore altogether. Knowing God's sense of humor and His desire to help me grow in virtue, He would set me up with someone like Brian whose wardrobe is full of ironables. He likes to wear a dress shirt and pants everyday, and although I admire his style and find it professional and attractive, it adds up to A LOT of ironing.

When we first married, I was eager to change this by using my new wifely influence and pouring out abundant compliments whenever he wore one of the few polos that he owned. I also encouraged family members to give him polos whenever they needed a gift suggestion. In my mind, polo shirts were the answer as he looked just as dashing and professional with the added benefit that they required NO IRONING! Unfortunately, I have been unsuccessful in eliminating ironables from Brian's wardrobe and am working on trying to accept this reality. Spending an hour last night tackling the most recent pile was a grueling reminder. Brian could see I was exhausted and asked me to stop for the night, but I had said that I was going to iron that day and by George, I was going to finish it. Stubbornness is sometimes the only way to plow through a task that we find unpleasant. I'm glad I wasn't born in my grandmother's generation, when they ironed all their sheets, tablecloths, napkins and handkerchiefs. What a miserable housewife I would have been indeed.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

My mom always had an ironing pile, too, but we don't do it like that in our house. I just hang everything up (eventually) and then Danny irons clothes as he needs them. He's MUCH pickier about ironing than I am and actually doesn't like me to iron his clothes. I lucked out on that one.