When I was a little girl, I used to love to watch my grandmother doing Grandpa's shirts. She had a laundry room in the basement, with the big cast iron laundry tubs, a wringer washer, a hot plate for cooking the starch, and her ironing board.
That's how I learned to iron shirts, which really can be an art.
Mom worked, and had an ironing lady, but that was before spray starch, so the ironing had to be sprinkled down the night before. That was my job.
My first husband was a coach/teacher, and very particular about his clothes. He usually went through at least 10 oxford cloth dress shirts a week. And if there was the slightest wrinkle in the cuff or collar, he would wad the shirt up and through it in the dirty clothes. If I hung it crooked in the closet, and it got a wrinkle...back in the dirty clothes. I ironed every monday, and it often took me 8 hours to get it done.
I still did some ironing with husband #2, but when he told me his mother ironed his jeans, I told him to take them home to mother and let her iron them.
By the time I married husband #3, I had totally quit ironing, except when I was sewing or for a special occasion.
When My daughter passed away and her little 3 year old boy moved in, I bought him a pair of casual pants that needed to be shortened. I got out the iron to press the hem in, he asked, "What is that?"
Unfortunately, permanent pressed shirts are impossible to find anymore, and Kim and I have some dressier clothes that have to be ironed.
Fortunately, my cleaning lady also irons. Bless her heart, she even bathes my dog. What jewel she is.
