I’ve been hiding something. It’s my big bad secret.
I’m a little ashamed of this which is why it hasn’t come up sooner.
It’s also a tad embarrassing. And it’s not like I haven’t tried to make this secret go away. Oh I have. But no matter what I do, I just can’t.
Ok here it goes. I can’t….I can’t….
I can’t Iron. Not even a little bit. I’ve tried. My mom’s tried to teach me about a million times. It’s no good. I just can’t do it. No matter how long I have a shirt, or pants, or whatever on that ironing board, it just stays wrinkled.
It can’t be that bad you say….oh it can and it is. Just ask Mr. Chaos. I remember the last time he asked me to iron anything for him. I remember it like it was yesterday.
“Hey baby. Can you please iron this shirt for me?”
“Sure thing babycakes. No problem.” You see…at this point…the poor kid thought I could iron. He didn’t know that I sent his ironing off to my mom when he wasn’t looking. Shameful I know.
But this time…my mom wasn’t there. I had to do it *gasp* all by myself. I psyched myself up. “I can do this,” I told myself over and over. I mean it was just a little shirt. I wouldn’t let that shirt win. So I ironed it and hung it back up on the hanger. Very proud of how it looked. Not perfect but not too many wrinkles either. It would work. So I waited until the hubs came back to get it.
“I asked if you could iron the shirt. I kinda need it.”
“Huh? I DID iron it.”
“Wait. What? You already ironed this.”
That my friends is the day Mr. Chaos realized his wife couldn’t iron. It was also the day I realized I was a lost cause when it came to ironing. I can do a lot of things. I can cook, bake, clean, take care of two kids at the same time, multitask, do laundry, fold laundry…I can even fold that stinking fitted sheet (that did take a good while to learn) and I’ve become quite the craft master. But there is one thing that I cannot do.
I can’t iron. Forgive me. Please.