I thought I’d let you (and the rest of the Internet) know that last night I did something totally and completely out of character—something so mind-boggling I felt it was important to publicly document the event.
This post begins with “Dear Mom” because I think my mother will find this either, (a) most relatable or (b) most hilarious. And this post is a post, instead of an email, because when I try to deny that I ever did this crazy thing, my mother can search for it, pull it up and say, Oh yes you did! You wrote it, I read it, and our neighbors down the street read it too. Don’t lie to me, young lady!
(the back story)
The household iron and I were not meant to be friends. Not only do I loathe ironing, I’m not just that good at it. So it should come as no surprise that the number of gotta-iron-it-to-wear-it clothing items in my closet is fewer than what I can count on one hand. And ironing any other kind of household item? Fuggedahboutit.
Yesterday I had my first moving mini-meltdown. Ross and I both knew it would come, it was just a matter of when. The only thing we both knew for sure was that it would come when we least expected it. So yes, we went from:
lovely sunny weekend at the lake
browsing paint chips at Home Depot
Omigod our condo is ripped apart and everything is in disarray and yes of course that means my whole life is in disarray too.
It was all so very dramatic and eventually the tears subsided and Ross brought me back to reality. I really do understand that there are much more important things going on in the world than the fact that our lives are shoved into dozens of boxes marked FRAGILE, I MEAN IT!. But somehow I just found myself in the meltdown zone. We’ve all been there, haven’t we?
(the totally out of character thing)
Later that evening I took a set of clean sheets out of the dryer and prepared to make the bed. Of course I had left the sheets in the dryer long enough to allow a hefty set of wrinkles the chance to make a home on the flat sheet. I looked at the sheet in my hands and thought, I absolutely cannot, will not, go to sleep under a messy, wrinkly excuse for bedding and dammit, (Mom, are you sitting down?) I’m ironing this sheet.
That’s right, Mom. Have you come-to yet? Give your cheek a good slap, drink some water, you’ll be fine.
I’ve always considered ironing sheets and pillowcases to be right up there on the crazy scale with ironing jeans. Who has time (or the energy) for that crap? But you know what? Last night I ironed the hell out of that sheet. I finally had the chance to see some “disarray” and do something about it. And with each wrinkle that surrendered under the hot metal in my hands (muahahaha!), I felt like I was getting a piece of my sanity back.
…For now :-)
Eight days until closing!