Just finished the ironing.
Oh yes, read it and weep.
This being the fault of my wife, who's chuckling it up. I had to facetime her to prove it. And she cackled like something proper evil. I'm seeing her true face. She washed a batch of my trousers, seemingly on purpose. Normally, I'd take them one of those special shops that wash your clothes, iron them, and make them smell nice before putting them into a nice plastic bag. Which I then roll up and stuff into a bike pannier. But she washed them herself and they turned out all creased.
I've been putting this off for weeks (months, I actually went and bought some new trousers in the interim) but today was the day. Unearthing the iron from the bottom of the cupboard was like an Indiana Jones adventure, enlivened by another habit of my spouse, and that's tidying the house by simply moving the mess out of sight, which means opening any cupboard is fraught, because that's where she had been cramming the mess. And why do we have 32 rolls of kitchen towel? What kind of catastrophe is going to need that level of soakage? There's also about 100,000,000 M&S bags for life in there. Anyway, iron retrieved, promising 'turbo glide' which sounded more exciting than ironing should be. Then I had to find the ironing board but I knew that was in the IT-shame cupboard under the stairs, I knew this because it fell on me every time I open the door. Unfortunately, it had spontaneous disassembled.
Somehow it all came together and I turbo-glided my way through six pairs of trousers. That sounds a bit wrong, but I did. It wasn't all as bad as I remembered from the last time I ironed anything, and I think I had to get married that time. Some thumping tunes and heavy use of the steam setting until the kitchen looked and sounded like a rock concert.
Don't say this boy don't know how to have fun.
