You must be wondering why there is a picture of an iron on your screen. It's an easy answer really. This instrument of torture, death and demise is haunting me.
You see, I really freaking hate ironing. I know, I know, buy a steamer, take it to the dry cleaner (that's really effing tempting), yes these are all viable options for your everyday run of the mill housewife. I however insist on ironing my husbands 1.75644566 million shirts every week to -get this- save money.
I always tell myself, oh it's not that bad, it's cheaper than buying a steamer or dry-cleaning it. Then I find myself writing a blog to avoid it. The pile of to-be ironed clothes stalks my every move through my house, want some lunch? Oh there's the god-forsaken pile on the table. Want to go to bed? Of course it's on your spot! The only way I can get out of it is to ignore it for a week and let my husband do it.
Let's just say the results aren't exactly appealing. I guess I have some ironing to do.
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