a pressing matter

Does anybody besides me iron anymore? We have two ironing boards in this household. Mainly because hubby got tired of having to traipse up the stairs to use the one and only, and he never was happy with the current setting on the iron. Soooooooooo, in the interest of keeping the peace, he now has one of each in his dressing room, and I still have mine, upstairs. But recently even this became a problem. Seems it’s in his way. He wants to use his computer (not the household one), and that means he has to plug it in, and the only outlet currently available in the office is one on the wall - - you got it - - right next to the ironing board. So, in the interest of keeping the peace, I moved the whole shebang into the guest room. Now when I need to press something I have go into the guest room and plug in the iron and then go into the bathroom to get a glassful of water and then move the supplies and, well, you get the picture. OK, none of those things is really a problem, it’s just inconvenient. But life is full of inconveniences, yes? There is, however, one tiny minor detail of concern. Last Sunday before heading out for my normal routine, I decided I needed to press my skirt. In a hurry, as always, I zipped through the job, donned the still-warm garment, unplugged the iron, carried it into the bathroom, emptied the water into the sink, went back to the guest room, set the iron on the board, closed the door and went to Sunday School and Church. When I get home first thing is always turn off the alarm, next is take off my shoes. The next order of business is change from skirt to grubbies. Before I could two and three on the list, I heard the most awful racket emanating from the upper portion of the house. Oh, Lord, I thought, what’s gotten into the attic? Nothing. Kitty was scratching at the guest room door, desperate to be set free from the prison he had been forced to occupy for the last five hours. Oh, and it does no good to tell him that sneaking into the guest room just so he can occupy the clean soft space on top of that bed might not be the best idea in the world. As of this morning the ironing board is back in the office. And Jim will just have to deal.