i don’t believe in irons

livinglagom.com - i don't believe in irons

Remember when I told you that I don’t believe in printers?

Well, I don’t believe in irons either.

For years – years! – I owned an iron. In all that time, I probably used it only a handful of times.

So when I started purging my stuff, I got rid of it once and for all.

who’s afraid of a few little wrinkles?

I seem to have issues with anything iron-related. I also got rid of my hair straightener in my purge. I lack the kind of focus that’s required to make things perfectly flat, whether with my clothing or my hair. I lose interest before the job is adequately done.

I actually learned how to “properly” iron in my eighth grade home economics class. Once the class was over, I promptly forgot everything I learned. Something about lift and press.

Meh. Life’s too short.

So now I try to only buy clothes that don’t need ironing. But sometimes I buy something that would look better if it was. I end up wearing it slightly wrinkled until I ultimately get rid of it.

I’ve never figured out that whole “hang it in the shower” thing either. (Please enlighten me if you have. I’m just left with a steamy bathroom.)

the great ironing incident of the 1990s

I think my aversion to ironing started back in the 90s. My mom had purchased this beautiful black velvet dress for New Year’s Eve. She loved that dress. A few days before the big day, she decided to iron it. And even though my mom was an ironing pro, somehow the dress got singed. She was devastated. She wanted to wear that dress.

Instead of buying another one, she made an exact replica of the dress from scratch with only days until the big event. My mom was a superstar.

Perhaps this experience – while having a happy ending – scarred me into thinking that if I ironed something that I really liked, that I would wreck it. And since I didn’t inherit my mom’s sewing skills, I couldn’t chance it.

Regardless of the reason for my affliction, when it comes to ironing – ain’t nobody got time for that.

P.S. The dress that my mom made by hand is one of the few things that I’ve kept of hers. It’s a reminder of her true spirit and perseverance. Yes, I could get rid of the dress and still remember the story behind it. But I don’t want to. When I do, I will.