Ironing is for the birds.

I hate an iron. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. I know it's not nice to use the 'H' word, but I don't have another one to describe my feelings toward this particular subject. Literally, the thought, sight, or touch of an iron makes my blood curl and my skin crawl... just as they might when someone claws their fingernails down a chalkboard. Shudder.

There aren't too many things I cannot stand in this world. My list isn't long, see:

• Sarah Palin
• Spiders
• People who hurt children
• Drivers in South Carolina
• Shaving chunks of skin out of my leg with a dull razor
• The jerks who took million dollar bonuses from bank bailout money
• Extremism in any form
• Ironing

I've skirted by for the last 16 years (since I flew from the Cuckoo my parents' nest where my mother, who absolutely adores her ironing board and that awful hot thing, would iron even our underwear) nicely without having to get the wrinkles out of stuff. I'm not exaggerating when I say I've used my iron no more than a handful of times in the past decade. If I buy something that requires pressing, chances are I'll wear it just once. If it should happen to make a second appearance on my body, it's either dirty with wrinkles or been to the cleaners. 

I'm not sure what my problem is. For some ridiculous reason, I simply cannot get the art of ironing down. Not to brag, but I'm pretty good at figuring out how to do lots of stuff, so when I can't do something correctly, I just decide NOT to do it at all. Enter ironing. It takes me no less than an hour and 15 minutes to iron a single button-down shirt. I'll do one side, think it looks good alright okay, iron the other side, pick up the whole thing, and the first side looks like it never saw an iron in its life. What the hell is that? In light of this problem, I have decided that whoever invented button-down shirts... and decided that they should be crisply pressed and worn... sucks. Plain and simple.

Also sucking, plain and simple, is the inventor of the electric iron, Henry W. Seeley. Thanks a lot, dude. You must certainly be residing in the same place in hell for which all of these present-day oil company executives are bound.

But, I have to ask, what's so wrong with a few wrinkles? Don't people say that laugh lines on the face provide the wearer with character? Wrinkles show distinction and offer glimpses into a person's life. Right? So, why can't it be the same for clothes? Come on, people! Who's with me on this?