Confession

I love vacuuming, dusting, doing laundry, wiping down counters, sweeping, and a myriad of other exceptionally satisfying household chores.  What keeps me from being the perfect homemaker is that I HATE IRONING.  There.  I said it aloud.  I hate it.  Mostly I hate it because I only do it when Mr. W needs something ironed and he usually waits five minutes before I plan on going to bed, and then says, "Oh hey, can you iron this shirt so I can wear it tomorrow?"  

I hate that even wrinkle-free shirts need to be ironed.  I hate that there are no short-cuts--if you iron a shirt in three minutes...it looks like you ironed the shirt in three minutes.  I hate that Mr. W can't iron his own shirts.  At least not very well.  

I will spend the rest of the week feeling shameful that I have not embraced this most basic of home tasks.  June Cleaver would be most disappointed in me.

I know, June, I'm shocked at my behavior, too.