Ironing Jeans

First, so no one feels sorry for me as I talk about laundry duties, I like doing laundry.  I know that a lot of women hate it, but I don't.  It's great thinking time.  It's a peaceful and quiet and relaxing process.  When I stay on top of it (which I normally do), it's a joy.

Now on to the story.

When I was in High School, I had a friend named Julie.  Well, she was more a friend of a friend, but I liked her.  She was nice and thoughtful, but she also was self-conscious in all the ways I wasn't, and seemed to lack that last piece in the Self-Esteem puzzle.  She constantly was wondering if she was too fat even though she was a beanpole.  And gorgeous on top of that.  If it had been possible to hate her for being skinny and gorgeous without knowing it, I would have hated her.  But she was impossible to hate.  I think everyone loved Julie.

One day a friend and I were talking about wrinkly jeans.  Probably because I was wearing wrinkly jeans.  I didn't care about them being wrinkly, mind you; I would have worn muddy jeans to school without caring.  Oh, wait.  I did wear muddy jeans to school.

And my friend said, "Julie irons her jeans."

I wasn't aware, first off, that ironing jeans was an option.  People iron church clothes.  That's it.
And I couldn't believe, second off, that any human being would ever think it worth it to iron jeans.

I remember looking over at Julie in her immaculately wrinkle-free jeans and scoffing.  Her Self-Esteem points lowered, in my mind, about 5 points that day.

Flash forward to the present.  I iron Rob's clothes now.  Not only has he dropped 70 lbs. in the last 5 years, he also now owns clothes that fit him.  And he looks good in them.  Plus, he teaches at a university on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so he needs to look somewhat professional.  We're not talking white shirt and tie professional, but at least non-wrinkly clothes professional. 

And I don't mind the ironing.  Again, all laundry is therapeutic for me.  But the problem is that he wears jeans to teach sometimes, so I iron his jeans, too.  And his relaxed-fit cargo-style khakis. 

At first this wasn't a problem.  I can acknowledge that in our image-centered world, wrinkles mark you as second-class.  But then I would hang up his jeans next to mine.  Nice, pressed jeans next to my wrinkled, well-loved jeans.  And suddenly I was feeling second-class, too.

So I started ironing my own jeans, too.  Not all the time.  Sometimes they don't need it.  But a lot of times.

And every time I iron my jeans I think about Julie in her immaculately wrinkle-free jeans.  I probably iron a pair of my jeans at least once a week.  So once a week, as I convert my wrinkly jeans into lovely, pressed jeans, I think of Julie and, in my mind, I apologize to her.