I live in a wet town.
It rains here in different flavours from pistachio to puce.
Yet, my inner delinquent, anarchist/ fake rebel self
for years took perverse pleasure
(and felt super bad ass)
for NOT owning an umbrella.
Yah, me so tough.
Well, it was the same with ironing.
With punk rock fervour I would flout the ironing situations of the world.
Me? A crisp collar? For shame.
In unrelated news,
I have evolved ever so slightly.
I also shacked up with a man who needed ironed shirts 3 times a year.
He did the ironing, and really it WAS only 3 times a year.
I still love punk rock and I don't wash out in the rain,
but now that I've started dressing up my ironing board...
its clear that the slippery slope is covered in a deluge.