Monday, July 10, 2017

the pleasure of ironing

I'm standing in my living room. I've pulled out the ironing board and iron. Tomorrow I have work appointments so I need to look sharp. I'm wearing a Dinosaur Junior t-shirt, boxers with bottles of scotch printed on them, gray wool sox pulled up to my calves and pigtails. I catch myself in the mirror and realize with a laugh that this is my sexy.

I turn the iron on and arrange my blouse on the board, noticing how well my hands work together. They know what to do without my interference. My fingers deftly guide and smooth the fabric, a soft cotton. I pick up the iron. Warm steam rises and clings to my forearm, sending shivers, as wrinkles slowly give way to a surface without waves.

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