There’s a new sport in town and I dare you to try it.
It’s dangerous. It’s thrilling. It’s extreme ironing.
Yes, I said ironing.
You know, that thing people do to their clothing so that it
appears neat and wrinkle-free? That’s right, ironing has gone to
the extreme.
There’s a new sport in town and I dare you to try it.
It’s dangerous. It’s thrilling. It’s extreme ironing.
Yes, I said ironing.
You know, that thing people do to their clothing so that it appears neat and wrinkle-free? That’s right, ironing has gone to the extreme.
No longer will people stand in front of the TV and iron a huge pile of clothes. Instead they will climb mountains, cross rivers and scale the heights of skyscrapers. And when they reach their destination, they will iron. And they will iron well.
All of this just opens up a huge pile of questions for me. I mean, did they think of other extreme household chores to use? What about extreme vacuuming? Or extreme toilet bowl cleaning?
Or even extreme stain removal – which by the way, is a sport I would excel at. After all, I have a very active 9-year-old boy. You would not believe the stains I have had to remove from his clothes.
But the organizers of this sport chose ironing. I suppose it makes sense in a weird, nonsensical way.
I mean, who wants to lug a dirty toilet up a mountain and then clean it? I don’t even want to clean the stationary toilets in my house, let alone one that I have pushed up the side of a hill.
And I guess I’m sort of prejudiced against ironing anyway. Growing up, I had many bad ironing experiences. Let’s just say that when your hair is naturally curly, ironing is NOT recommended for straightening.
And let’s also say that bald patches aren’t attractive on anyone, let alone a teenage girl just before the junior high Sadie Hawkins Dance.
And it’s not just that experience that soured me on the whole ironing thing. Although, frankly, that was pretty bad. But I also had my mother to deal with. My mother believes in the power of ironing. She believes that a wrinkle-free existence is pretty much the ideal. So she spends every Sunday night ironing. I love my mother – but she even irons blue jeans, for pete’s sake.
Who in their right mind irons blue jeans? What’s the point? The minute you sit down the jeans are going to get those funny looking creases across the thighs anyway. So why spend minutes sweating over a hot iron, creasing the pants perfectly?
And while we are on the subject, why iron shirts? If you drive anywhere, the seatbelt goes across your chest and wrinkles up the shirt. So why bother? I just don’t get it.
Look, if people were meant to iron, nobody would have discovered polyester. Or Teflon. Or whatever those wrinkle-free Dockers are made of.
As you can see, I’ve made it my mission in life to never, ever iron. And I’m willing to go to any length to avoid it. I’ve tried spraying wrinkle remover on my clothes. It sort of worked. I guess it would have been better if I’d gotten all the spray on the shirt, rather than the floor. Then I wouldn’t have slipped in it and broken my toe.
And I’ve tried just tossing wrinkled clothes back in the dryer. Frankly, it doesn’t work. In the first place, it’s a waste of electricity, and in the second place, on a hot summer day, who wants to wear a shirt fresh out of the dryer?
There’s no antiperspirant on earth that is strong enough to defeat that kind of heat.
Of course, there was a time when I just gave up. I bought an iron. I even used it. But then I would worry whenever I left the house after ironing. Did I shut it off?
And if I did shut it off, was it cool enough to be put away in its little hanging thing in my closet?
Or was the iron that I had just used to press my shirt right at that very moment causing my entire shoe collection to go up in flames?
After a while, my phobias forced me to give up ironing and embrace a fully wrinkled lifestyle.
And you know what? It’s fine. Sure, I avoid cotton shirts and skirts whenever possible. And you can forget ever seeing me in anything made of linen.
But then again, I won’t be ironing, either. I’ll leave that to the professionals – like my mother and the extreme ironers. But the minute somebody starts that extreme stain removal sport – well, you’ll be seeing a lot of me on ESPN.
