August 29, 2012

All this Ironing is Making Me Nuts (and Nostalgic)

The other day I wrote about The Mister buying 100% cotton shirts to wear to work. You can read the entire post here.

I washed said shirts, and took them out of the dryer while still damp. I held each shirt in front of me, and grasping it at the shoulders, gave it a sharp shake (like Lila told me to do). I immediately hung each shirt on its own wooden hanger (no wire hangers here, people), and put the shirts in the closet.

I ironed the striped shirt, confident that Lila's tips would increase my chances of a wrinkle-free result. Despite my best efforts, the shirt still looked as wrinkled as the face of your average seventy-five year old sun worshipper. I was annoyed anew, the wound in my cold domestic heart reopened. I cursed the shirt's existence and told The Mister that I'd need spray starch to make the shirt presentable for work.

Yesterday, The Mister came home about fifteen minutes late - and was bearing gifts. First he presented me with a two-liter bottle of Coke Zero (in an attempt to soften me for the real gift).

A big ole can of spray starch, so I could iron his $#*%@& shirt.

I made my attempt at midnight. I used a liberal amount of spray starch. The scent of the starch took my mind back to my parents' basement and I recalled the hours I wasted ironing my gym suit/dress with bloomers during junior high and high school. 

Cute, isn't it? See the bloomers? Our gym suits were white
Photo source
This was pretty risque clothing at the time. Girls were not allowed to wear pants to school until I was a freshman in high school. In 8th grade, culottes were permitted to be worn. We had to have panels on the front and back. God forbid that we show any part of the female form.

Here's a picture of a pattern:

My culottes (made at home) looked most like the denim example
Photo source

Anyway, the fashions of the time gave me plenty of practice doing the entire family's ironing while I watched shows like "Scream-In", a popular sci-fi/horror movie program on that newfangled cable television channel 53 in Pittsburgh. It was hosted by a cheesily creepy guy named Tarantula.

Now back to the problem at hand...When I was done ironing, I took a good look at the can of spray starch. I can only assume that product's name was created to eliminate company liability.

The shirt still has some puckery looking wrinkles, despite my diligence. Faultless, indeed.

I have half a mind (does anyone say that anymore?) to give The Mister $14 and use the shirt as a burnt offering to the laundry gods...anything so I don't have to iron the damned thing again.


  1. I'm telling you, scorch the dang thing and head to the Goodwill store for a replacement.
    We didn't have a skirts on our bubble-butt-bloomer gym suits.

  2. OK I am telling you iron it while it is still damp with the starch. It will make a world of difference.

  3. I hate to iron, but I love the magic sizing starch. It slightenly enlarges your clothes as you iron them. besides making them wrinkle free.

  4. Wow, I'm thinking the mister needs a class on ironing so he can do it his damn self. wait, did I just say that. Then you can drink your coke zero while WATCHING HIM. :)

  5. Just burn the shirts and buy him the right ones.


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