Ironing Woes

I do not know whose brilliant idea it was, but some yahoo in motel world decided it was a good idea to bungee cord the iron to the ironing board at the hotel we stayed at last weekend. (Apparently, there must be a high propensity for people absconding with cheap irons from hotel rooms or something). So, there I was doing my best to iron my daughter's little dress on this board with an incredibly slippery silver ironing pad , which the dress kept slipping off of, stretching this too short plastic cord that closely resembled the old twisty phone cords we all once had back when we were tied to walls when talking on the phone. The board was also rather flimsy and poorly balanced causing it to have a tendency to tip, usually when Isabelle decided to streak by every two milliseconds or so to go use the potty with the "loud flush." The iron also was a sad model with a narrow base which also liked to fall over. Somehow I managed to get Isabelle's dress and one blouse of mine ironed, walking away with minimal swearing and one rather bad looking burn on my right forearm. Naively, I thought that would be the end of it. (One would think I would know better after the Christmas tree episode, but read on).

In an attempt to ward off any potential flare ups I did warn Clay of the rather inept design of the ironing situation, but in the span of five minutes it became clear I was to be powerless to control the moment. Because Clay does prefer steam when ironing he took a cup from the bathroom and filled the iron with water and plugged it in. All was peaceful while the iron heated up, but it was not too last. He placed his white dress shirt on the board and, of course, it immediately slipped off, and no matter how he positioned it he quickly discovered that it would not remain in place without keeping one hand on it at all times. Then when trying to maneuver the iron down towards the end of the board, Clay likewise, discovered how short the bungee cord was that was attached to the iron. After attempting to "make it work" for a (I will be generous and say a few minutes) he then moved on to trying to remove the iron from the cord. This mostly involved a lot of brute strength, swearing and bashing of any and all persons involved in the design of the tethered iron. Of course, that did not work. When that failed Clay moved on to stretching out the bungee cord by trying to pull on it and straighten the spirals out of it and hence give him more length to work with. There I was watching my college educated husband hang a heated iron, dangling down between his feet, pulling on the cord with his hands straightening the bungee. I kept envisioning severe burns on feet and runs to emergency rooms. (In case you are wondering, at this time my dear parents had taken my daughter down for the continental breakfast in the hotel lobby. Bless them!) When the swearing began in earnest and the metal base that sat on the ironing board which held the iron when not in use began to get bent from Clay pulling so hard, I decided I would retreat to the bathroom and dry and style my hair. Keep in mind by this time the water Clay had put in the iron was mostly spilled out now in various places all over the hotel room from him flinging the thing about in various ways trying to straighten the cord, and please continue to envision the whole time that this cord is, in fact, attached at the other end to the damn ironing board and you begin to get the picture.

When I finally came out of the bathroom it was with a fair amount of trepidation, so I was somewhat surprised to find the iron still intact and not in little pieces and to hear Clay quite civilly request an iron from the front desk over the phone. He then sat down to wait. And wait. And wait. You can imagine how my dear husband's mood "improved" when more and more time passed and the new iron (which hopefully would be delivered minus the tether) was not delivered. All too soon I ran out of things to do in the bathroom, so I finally suggested that he perhaps should take a shower (tentatively and carefully, like a police officer talking to a person threatening to jump off a roof top) and I would go down to the front desk and ask. I did so and, soon returned with an untethered (hallelujah) iron and a much nicer model, I might add. Leaving Clay with the new iron I went down to breakfast sure now that all would be well.

It was only later that I was informed that even that iron suffered some indignities also. Although the new iron was not tethered to the board, Clay was still not happy with the choices of where we had to plug it in within the hotel room, so he decided to find a new outlet that better suited his needs for, shall we say, greater maneuverability while ironing. He found one, plugged it in and ................... the iron would not heat up. After struggling with the evil tethered iron for the better part of an hour this was, I guess, the proverbial "last straw" and Clay launched the untethered iron across the hotel room, where it landed rather roughly in the general vicinity of the air conditioning unit. However, as I said I only learned of the iron's unauthorized "flight" later on, for when I returned from breakfast Clay was sedately finishing up his suit pants with the untethered iron. (Yes, it seems the iron worked fine, and, in fact, the outlet, Clay had plugged it into just happened to not be working). More impressive is, perhaps, the fact that the iron still worked after being so abused my husband.

It seems we were not the only ones with ironing woes, however, as my mother reports a tale of my parents' iron spewing water out at them when it was plugged in. It seems the last guest of the room had left water in the iron and poor unsuspecting Mom and Dad plugged it in only to start getting spat at. This would not be so bad except, once again, for the DAMN tether, for in order to pour the water out my father ended up dragging the iron and the board into the bathroom to dump the excess water down the drain. (Had to be quite the sight.)

Regardless, the running joke the rest of the weekend revolved around the tethered irons, and we all rotated the untethered iron Clay and I had gotten from the front desk between our room, my parents, and my brother and his wife's. Never did so tedious a chore garner so much attention. And although frustrating for poor Clay and perhaps scarring for my right arm, it provided some laughter during what was mostly a hard, and over wrought weekend, proving that laughter can always be found, and there are always moments to be enjoyed. (Although Clay might not think so!)