As I struggled to get the more stubborn wrinkles out of shirts big and little today, almost burning my face in the process (don't ask), my eye noticed the dent in the plaster from the last time I ironed (again, don't ask)-- clearly, ironing is not my forte. I'm sure I could be good at it if I really tried, but I am obviously lacking passion for it. I have absolutely no desire to excel in the field of ironing.
While ironing, I began to wonder-- who is it that decided that clothes look better pressed? Is it a decision made by some iron inventor who, through some clever advertising at the local mercantile, convinced the world to buy his irons, because clearly being well-pressed was the way to go? Or is it something that we have been born with? An innate desire to be wrinkle free?
It's not that I don't have that desire to be wrinkle free-- I just prefer to be wrinkle free without having to iron! Rophone has, in the past, stopped me on my way out the door, made me strip, and ironed my clothing for me. Rophone has been in charge of doing virtually all of the ironing for 14 years, so I've decided it's time to turn over a new leaf. Time to give Rophone a break and take my turn at the board. It's time for some sacrifice and selfless giving on my part. That's what marriage is all about, right?
And, admittedly, when I think of ironing as something I'm doing for Rophone as a surprise or a special treat ( I mean, who wouldn't rather find ironed shirts in their closet instead of wrinkled ones?), it makes it almost enjoyable! (Okay, so that is stretching the truth a little-- but I don't hate it as much, really!)