Yesterday morning Keith asked me to iron his “red” shirt. Sure, no problem. I went to the closet, grabbed the red, long-sleeved shirt and took it to the kitchen to iron. I asked him once more, “the red long-sleeved, button-down shirt?” throwing as many adjectives in there as I possibly could. Yep, that was the one, he said. I HATE to iron, maybe more than any other domestic duty in the world. Before Keith was around, I kept a bottle of wrinkle releser in the closet, and if any of my clothes had any major creases or folds, I’d attack them with my magic wrinkle releasing potion. Of course, it was a flawed system, but good enough for me. Anyhow, because I’m short on patience, I always turn the iron up as high as it will go. The hotter the better, right? So I ironed the red shirt and took it to Keith. “that’s not the right shirt,” he said. Now we were down to the wire. He had to be out the door in 2 minutes, and I had to get this stupid shirt ironed. That’s when the iron tumbled from the ironing board and bounced around a couple times on the tile floor before it landed, hot side down, of course, on my bare foot. Awesome! As I drove to work, my foot felt like it was literally on fire inside my shoe. I’m ok today, but there’s still some iron patterning on my foot, like when you hold an iron to clothes for too long.
Ok, now I’m off to track down a hardcover copy of Eclipse, the third book in Stepehenie Meyer’s Twilight saga. I can’t wait to start reading it!
Finally, I promise I’m going to update the About section this weekend. For some reason, it’s been the hardest thing for me to do. Keep your eye out for it…
