pumping iron

I do know how to iron.  My mother taught me when I was ten years old.  She started me off on pillowcases and it wasn't too long til I had graduated to my dad and brother's dress shirts and just about everything else that needed ironing. I didn't mind ironing because it was an indoor activity, as opposed to pulling weeds in the vegetable garden, and I could watch TV while I ironed.  All in all, not a bad job back then but over the years I have developed a real aversion to ironing. I suspect my mother felt the same way back when she so graciously let me do the ironing. It's not that it's such a hard job, just not very exciting. Luckily, these days thanks to knit fabrics and dryers ironing isn't often necessary. I can't tell you the last time I ironed a pillow case. It had been at least five years since I had ironed anything but wax beads. Once, a few years ago, a visiting friend asked if she could use my iron.  After some frantic searching I had to admit to her that, while I was sure I owned an iron, I couldn't find it. I did spot it some weeks later tucked in the back of a closet, and I did bring my iron and ironing board with me when I moved last year.  It's a good thing because this morning I discovered that the dress I wanted to wear to church had gotten wrinkled in the closet. Not only did I find my iron and ironing board and the distilled water right where I had put them when I moved in here 11 months ago, I managed to turn the iron on (after I remembered to plug it in) and actually ironed the dress without scorching it at all. Whew! That's enough of that. If I hang my clothes a little more carefully I may never need to iron again.