Adventures in Domesticity: Ironing Edition

Today I had a little adventure with my laundry. I was trying to be responsible, actually folding my laundry and putting it away (!) instead of simply picking pieces off the drying rack as I needed them. since I had the time, and then they would be ready to wear later. See? Responsibility!

Watch me rock.

Watch me rock.

So, I wrangle the iron and ironing board in from the hallway, turn on RFI (no reason I can’t do housework and French at the same time), and get cracking. It has admittedly taken me a while to become competent at ironing. I never really did much of it as a kid, because my mother was sensible and just bought clothes that didn’t need to be ironed. Shirts are kind of the bane of my existence, because there are just so many parts. Collar, yoke, panels, sleeves—who has time for that?

You tell them, Sweet Brown.

You tell them, Sweet Brown.

But needs must. I finish one shirt, and move on to the second one. All is well, until I move the iron and notice a large orange-brown mark on the front of the shirt. Panic—and a bit of swearing—ensues. Was there something on the iron? What did I just do? Is this thing ruined?

I dash off a frantic Facebook message to my mother, and then I realize: it’s not even 11 AM here in Vienna, which means it’s not even 3 AM back home. There is no way she’s getting this message any time soon. I am on my own.

Oh, dear...

Oh, dear…

It’s time to turn to the bible of domesticity—Good Housekeeping. Seriously, these people are the best. One quick search (and an examination of the offending iron) reveals that there was nothing on the iron itself; I simply scorched the fabric. I feel slightly relieved, apart from the fact that the iron was on the “cotton” setting; it shouldn’t have been too hot! All the same, there are instructions. Place the clothing in cold water immediately. Done. This buys me some more time to peruse the directions. Their first recommendation is peroxide, which I don’t have. Next best thing: vinegar or lemon juice, the latter of which is mercifully in my fridge. Then, one must launder the affected garment and let it air dry. No heat—you don’t want to set the stain. Now, it seems like my luck is starting to turn; for once, no one is using the washing machine. I pluck my shirt from the sink, run it down the hall, and throw it into the washing machine. It’s still there. We’ll see how this goes.

Not doing this again for a while, though.

Not doing this again for a while, though.

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