Top of my list of things that life is too short to do is without a doubt, ironing. I think it all began when a simple straight up and down shift-type garment, which was the most suitable form of clothing, being a one-size-fits-all, no need to worry about whether your bum looked big in it, began to be eschewed by those who wished to show off their women in public. At first, a lovely silk ribbon was used to nip and tuck the flowing garments of the Greeks and Italians, but once a more permanent fastening was invented, there was no end to the variety of pleats, folds and blousons that could enhance women's attire. This later spread to multiple ruffles and gathers for both men and women.
Surely none of this can have been invented with ironing in mind? The way I see it, the idea that sending your man off to work wearing a creased shirt is not something that should attract sneers and derision at your lack of pride in his appearance, but rather be a statement that you have something better to do with your life. After all, within half an hour of putting it on, his body heat will have smoothed the creases anyway.
I have always found that after I have ironed something, the end result is more defined creases, rather than a smooth finish, which totally defeats the whole purpose. Only someone who has never ironed anything in their life could have designed cargo pants, or pockets that have pleats and have little sides added so that you can carry a cellphone, R500 in R10 notes and five credit cards over your heart. Not to mention the proliferation of elasticised T-shirt type tops that gather a metre of material into a 30cm length.
Unless wearing clothes that haven't been ironed becomes a life-threatening situation, I am happy to advise that I have hung up my iron and from now on will be wearing clothes with almost as many wrinkles as my skin (so I'll still be looking quite smooth anyway - you can read that as either wrinkle-free or smoooooth!)
As for the rest of the family, the choice is theirs.
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