I know I’m running the risk of boring you all to death but since sharing is this century’s name of the game…I want to tell you that I’ve recently rid myself of ironing duties.
Embracing my newly found sense of liberation, I’ve unlocked those domestic goddess handcuffs, chucked them overboard and now tackle The Family Ironing Pile by folding away the laundry and distributing it around the house accordingly. Every evening before the children’s bedtime I ask if anyone needs anything ironing for the morning and mostly I get a “No thanks.” Et voila.
I never, ever, ironed sober. I would manage to polish off at least one bottle of red while ironing the hours away. Mindlessly gazing at the telly perhaps, legs aching from being rooted to the spot for hours, zoning out through booze. If I’d stopped drinking twenty five years ago, my ‘trigger’ would have been crazy nights out, usually involving dancing, laughing and crying (sometimes all at once) and not stopping until sunrise puts you to bed. If I’d stopped fifteen years ago my ‘trigger’ would have been cosy, sexy nights in with my husband. As it is, I’ve stopped now – today – and my ‘trigger’ is ironing.
Don’t iron, it’s bad for your health – just an observation.