I am not the world’s best housekeeper.
Even when I’ve got the time to keep the house clean, it’s not necessarily on my top 100 list of things to do. I’d rather read, or see a mystery on Acorn, or watch paint dry.
This is my solution to wrinkled shirts. Because why should I drag out the monstrosity called an “ironing board,” go to all the trouble of pouring water in the iron, and bore myself to tears meticulously smashing the hell out of a wrinkly shirt when I’ve got a perfectly good hair flattener sitting in the bathroom?
When our oldest was about four, some weirdo in our circle of friends and family gave her – get this – a TOY IRON AND IRONING BOARD for her birthday. (Remember in “Toy Story” when one of Andy’s friends brought a set of bed sheets to the party for a birthday gift? “Who invited that kid?”)
Problem number one: My daughter had probably NEVER seen me iron. To her this “toy” was an utter mystery.
Problem number two: Toys are for playing. Playing is meant to be fun. How is a hot, monotonous, thankless task like ironing “fun?”
Problem number three: Would a little boy have received a crap gift like that? I’m trying to think of a comparable unpleasant “toy” that would fit male gender stereotypes. You’d probably have to invent it yourself. Let’s see…what’s the nastiest job that gets delegated to the men of the household? Does Fisher Price make a set that includes a tiny shop vac and a refrigerator with filthy compressor coils that need an inch of dust sucked off of them in order to keep the fridge from dying an untimely death? I think not.
The housekeeping thing is taking on a different and fascinating dimension as my eyes and I become ever more mature. See, I rarely wear my glasses when I’m just hanging around in the house. When a freak of nature occurs and I do start cleaning, there are pros and cons to my failing vision. Cleaning is a lot easier when you can’t see a lot of the dust bunnines piling up in corners. Dusting gets done in record time! On the other hand, when I do put on the glasses, I can’t miss the fact that we’re living in filth.
If only on my fourth birthday someone had had the forethought to give me a pile of rags and a can of Endust.