It’s still not a favorite chore

I hate ironing. It’s probably the chore I hate most, even more than scrubbing the bathtub. And since I work at a place with an extremely relaxed dress code, I don’t really need to do it.

But Cute Husband doesn’t have the same luxury and actually has to wear pressed shirts everyday. For about the past 5 years, I’ve left him to his own devices, which is to say that he would typically just drop them off at the cleaners to get pressed.

Well, with The Boy at a private school now and gas prices on the rise, our disposable income isn’t what it used to be. (Is anyone’s?) So Cute Husband’s trips to the cleaners have become more infrequent, but that also means a huge stack of dress shirts piled up in my bedroom.

Today, Cute Husband and The Boy went to the Magic Kingdom for haircuts and spent most of the day there. I elected to stay home to do laundry and other simple chores. And ironing was on that list. I had 2 dresses and a top on the drying rack, and I was tired of looking at them, so I needed to just break out the ironing board and press them already. And while I was at it, I’d might as well press some of Cute Husband’s shirts, too.

Five hours later, I ironed (and put away) those dresses and that top, did four loads of laundry, and pressed 20 shirts (3 of which Cute Husband says are too small, which would have been good intel to have before I started ironing them). Interestingly, the playlist I set up to play while I run in the mornings (and I so need to start doing that again) was the perfect playlist to keep me entertained while I ironed.

Oh, and added bonus: Cute Husband ID’d another 20 shirts in the giant pile o’ shirts that can be donated. Win! (I love smaller piles of anything.)

I tried something different from the way my mother did the laundry, though it’s probably a no-brainer for everyone else: instead of tossing the shirts in the dryer, I hung them up to dry, sprayed them with Downey wrinkle-release, and pressed them while they were still damp. I think I have a system in place now, and though it doesn’t make the process enjoyable, it’s at least a bit less of a pain.

But don’t get me wrong: I still hate ironing.

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