I hate ironing. Don't get me wrong, I understand that it's a necessary chore. In fact, as I was ironing my shirt this morning I came to realize that there is something instantly gratifying about seeing the wrinkles disappear before my eyes. The iron: such a simple device with such transformative power on not only the clothes, but the person that wears them. This got me to thinking. I wish there was a magical iron to make disappear the crinkles and wrinkles of the fabric of life. That would make things much easier. Or better yet, if money grew on trees. And I had one of these money-trees and it was ripe with Benjamins--because, seriously, I fucking hate ironing.
Monday, October 26, 2009
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