Tag Archives: wrinkles

Ironing Out the Details

When I bought my house three years ago, I somehow got this idea in my head that I needed to buy an ironing board and an iron. This wasn’t predicated by the fact that I had an ironing compulsion or even ironed casually at any time before, so I’m not sure where this came from.

All I knew was that if I needed to iron something, I wouldn’t have an iron to accomplish the task. Never mind the fact that I was still in need of a couch or a bed at the time, I felt that before I moved in I needed an iron to prevent a possibly wrinkly situation.

So I bought the stuff and stored it in my linen closet, just in case I accidentally purchased something in the future that had a propensity for wrinkling when thrown in a ball on the floor (usually a deal breaker when factored into the purchasing decision, but sometimes I am fooled.)

This was the situation earlier this week when a new pair of freshly washed pants was left in the dryer too long.


I was ticked that I had purchased something with such an obvious character flaw—cracking under pressure, but also a little bit excited that I was going to be able to use my ironing supplies for the first time.

Yes, the first time in three years.

So imagine my disappointment when I went to my closet and came out with this.


It might just look like an odd angle or that it’s low to the ground, but let me post my shoe next to my ironing board for a size comparison…


…and now with my pants, in all their wrinkled glory.


Is it supposed to be that small? I remembered it being much bigger.                 (Insert inappropriate joke here.)

While I’m tall, I am not an 8-foot tall amazon woman with ridiculously long legs, which means this ironing board is better suited for the clothes of Uncle June than for the clothes for yours truly.

But when you have wrinkles and OCD, you have to take action, so I spent a good 15 minutes basically lying on the floor in an attempt to iron a pair of pants on a board two feet too short and elevated approximately two inches from the floor.

I suppose I could have put it on a table, but that would have involved finding an empty space large enough to accommodate the small board. Other than my glass kitchen table, I was kind of screwed.

Not to mention the fact that I thought about that 10 minutes after I had already ironed the pants.

But it was upon completion of this task that I discovered the one truly awesome thing about this ironing board—the absolutely delightful ease at which it collapses. In fact, it collapsed while I was ironing and I didn’t even notice.

Maybe I’m just “special,” but have you ever succeeded in collapsing a regular ironing board without spewing profanity or getting a random body part stuck in one of the two metal pieces that are somehow more difficult to master than a Mensa test?

Whenever I use a normal ironing board—usually only when I travel for work—I always just leave the damn thing up and use it as a table. Somehow I don’t think this would work in my upstairs hallway. Plus, then I would have to dust around it.

The moral of the story is that I should avoid shopping to avoid fighting with inanimate objects so I can avoid blogging about diminutively-sized ironing boards and instead sip a cocktail while sitting in the sun listening to the ballgame on the radio.

Well, at least that’s what I got out of it.

Is there an appliance that you avoid using so that you don’t have to clean it/fight with it/put it away?