Friday, April 11, 2008

Homesick Iron

Ironing is one of my tasks in our household. For the most part, I iron my own clothes, and some of Jamie's. To "kill two birds with one stone," I usually iron while watching TV. I believe I have some manner of a guilt complex, because often when I sit and only watch TV, I feel like (get ready for the simile) a slothful and languid bum. Ironing while watching TV allows me to assuage that guilt. So it's not uncommon for me to, every so often, leave the iron out...maybe on the floor or on the hearth or on the mantle.

If I iron 90 items of clothing per hour, and do it perfectly, but leave the iron and ironing board out, Jamie will not be satisfied. Jamie detests my inability to "finish the job" and harshly criticizes me. And it stomps out my alacrity for life.

But yesterday, I walked in our bedroom and found the iron on my nightstand with the above note attached to it. My oh my! How I was shocked! The iron loathes being left out as well. I talked with the iron; he (our iron is a male...turn him over and see the evidence) told me he simply got homesick easily. Iron (he prefers the generic name to his surname, Aloisus) told me that since we've had him, his home has been our laundry room, and he's most comfortable in there. After my conservation with the iron, I was mortified. I assured the iron I would take steps to always get him back home.

As an act of good will, I sang a song to the iron before I put him up. An old gospel song, "Home."

Home is where the heart is, and my heart's on home...



1 comment:

Rusty said...

If you do most of the ironing then the least she could do would be to put the iron up for you once in a while. Seems only fair.