I should be ironing right now. There’s a mountain of wrinkled clothes the size of Mauna Kea piled on my bed. Would you like to know how many of those wrinkled clothes belong to me?

ONE.

That’s all. The remaining 1,573 wrinkled pieces belong to the short and loud people in the house who show no appreciation for all the ironing I do every week.

Some of you may think it’s my laziness that causes so much ironing. I must not get the clothes out of the dryer promptly! Well, you’re wrong. The buzzer doesn’t even finish buzzing before I’m in there, desperately pulling clothes out, trying to prevent wrinkles. It never works.

The real culprit of the weekly mountain of wrinkled clothes is the goddamn dryer. I once had a wonderful dryer. WONDERFUL! Then, after a mere 6 years, it broke. Stopped heating, just like that! I guess Kenmore isn’t so wonderful after all.

We considered buying a new dryer, but did you know most new dryers cost more than a house payment? I’m not even making that up. It’s insane. Do people make it a habit of stealing from their kids’ college savings in order to afford these things?

Lucky for us (or so I thought at the time), my dad had an extra dryer since he’d just purchased a new one. Yay! No need to fork out $1200 for a dryer right now.

Now I know why my dad bought a new dryer. Everything comes out of this dryer wrinkled. EVERYTHING, even the wrinkle-free clothes.

So I really should be ironing right now and for the next three hours instead of writing this blog post. But I’m not. I can’t make myself do it. There are so many other things I’d rather do. In fact, I decided to share with you the things I’d rather do than iron.

• Pluck toe hair.

• Pluck my husband’s old-man ear hair.

• Listen to my kids cry and whine when I force them to do their homework.

• Read blogs.

• Like The Bloggess, who, thank god, doesn’t get Twilight either. I’m adding her to my Christmas list, along with all other Twilight haters. I hope she likes handmade scarves. I plan to knit one that says FUCK EDWARD, COUNT DRACULA HAD BALLS!

• And Stacey, whom I love with the strength of a thousand moons. That’s in direct opposition of how much I hate doing push-ups on the 30 Day Shred (with the strength of a thousand suns). That is how much I love Stacey’s writing. I can’t recall her thoughts on Twilight, but I’m hoping I can keep her on my Christmas list too.
• Look up when to use “whom” or “who.”

• Give myself an enema.

• Give an old person a enema, that is how much I hate ironing.

• Discover the cure for male skid marks, which would make me rich enough I could hire someone to do my ironing. Or just buy a new ritzy dryer.

• Have sex with Santa in exchange for a new ritzy dryer.

The extremes in which I would go to avoid ironing knows no bounds. Except for one. I’ll iron for 40 straight days and 40 straight nights before reading the rest of Twilight. I read all the way up to page 285 and had to stop in order to make my last will and testament before killing myself, that was the torture I endured. Never again. Not even ironing is that bad.

But it’s close.

When Wally got home, I cried and demonstrated the extent of my suffering to him by serving cold leftovers for dinner. And to this he replied, “Honey, I’ll do the ironing for you.”

That’s just like a man, getting in the way of a woman’s success as a martyr.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 8th, 2009 at 9:53 am and is filed under Marital Bon Mot, The Housewife Hallows. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.