The Stars and the Cookie Jar

"No, Greg, the iron is not your new cat-warming friend. It is the steam-breathing dragon of death."

...I learned today that the spritz function on most irons is not for your clothes. It's to prevent your cat from acquiring third-degree fur burns. Because you can't get Greg the kitty to stay away from anything with a warming element, but he fears the deep magic of the squirty bottle.

I consider myself a decent housewife, as far as American women my age generally go. I can make jam and cheese, I can reduce an animal carcass to its standard component parts for cooking, I can sew a buttonhole and a hem, I know things like laundry temperatures and how hot to make an oven when the recipe says 'as hot as for bread'. And I am proud of my competence and that enables me to enjoy these tasks.

But Jeebus, I do hate ironing. I don't iron up to my grandmother's standards, by a long shot (she's about eighty and she still chases between the buttonholes with a rather ancient and heavy Kenmore). I just aim for 'less wrinkled than it was before'. I know a well-pressed outfit is part of a professional appearance. I've been indoctrinated, for heaven's sake. I just can't make myself enjoy it. I wasn't really happy with the smell and the sticky, uber-starched feel of clothes after they'd been sprayed with Wrinkle Release, though, so I trundled out the ironing board today.

I wish things didn't come with collars or sleeves.

Apropos of nothing, has anyone noticed the disturbing trend of the woman's professional shirt to come without a collar button these days? I like having a collar button. It's distinguished. *pouts*