free at last, free at last!

I used to know a guy that refused to iron any clothes. The morning before work, he’d toss his outfit for the day into the dryer and, after 15 minutes on ‘tumble’, he’d pop them out, put them on - still warm and static clingy from doing laps around the inner sanctum of the machine - and presto, instant, hands-free ironing he would say.

I felt that he was incredibly lazy. Because as much as I hated ironing…a task which I still despise…I prided myself in my ironing effort. Skilled, I was not, but I always put forth effort.

True, most of my clothes had creases criss-crossing at odd angles throughout my shirts and pants. I could never seem to precisely line up the perfect creases on the clothes to match with my ironing. But still, I toiled above the hot, steam spewing iron, creating new creases slightly off-center of the existing creases, and told myself that I was accomplishing something.

My parents had always told me that doing things you didn’t want to do built character. And every time I picked up an iron, my character was being built exponentially. We’re talking Great Wall of China character.

But a love for ironing never developed. And the grid of creases that had characterized my wardrobe never diminished. Finally, I decided to give into temptation one day. As I pulled a pair of slacks out of my dryer, I looked at them and told myself that they really didn’t look too bad. So they went straight from dryer, to hanger, to closet.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that none of my clothes looked all that bad. Not nearly bad enough to warrant pulling out the ironing board and trying to tame my clothes with a hot iron. So they all went straight into the closet.

I had been a slave to ironing for years and now came an epiphany. I was free! My clothes look fine, and with a proper amount of squinting, they were virtually indistinguishable from freshly pressed clothes.

And I’m happy in my new ironless existence. I’ve shed the shackles of slavery. Never again will I let the man (or whoever else runs the electric iron division at Black and Decker) keep me down.

True, I may appear a little more wrinkled than you remember me, but I am wrinkled on my terms.