I was on my second cup of tea and I don't even really like tea and it was finals week and I should have been studying but instead I was ironing.
I am the only person left in the family who irons. Everybody else just stopped wearing clothes that required it. And the ironing board is just barely holding on to the wall with half a screw and I wait until the house is dark and quiet before starting because I don't want a kid to come dashing through the hallway and get burned.
And it was on this night when I ironed a crease in a shirt where it wasn't supposed to be and shouted
Then, it dawned on me.
It isn't that I am absolutely sure to fail. It's just that it's likely.
But this world doesn't really seem to appreciate most of these things.
There it was.
The night before finals.
The loophole.
I could marry a businessman.
This is what happened in my head that night:
Ironing? Totally useful.
It was brilliant. All I'd have to do is get really good at ironing - I'm talking apron, oven mitts, the whole deal - and be able to pull off trophy wiving, and boom -- total success. Totally not homeless.
The only problem was - well, there were a lot of problems.
I'm not exactly a natural trophy wife. There are a lot of factors involved.
These are all things I am bad at.
I could be perfect at ironing, right? Like, totally pro. No creases. Ever. And then there'll be some guy in a flannel someday start telling me about his favorite authors and I'll have to say, "I'm sorry sir, but ONE of us has to marry rich. Or at least end up halfway successful. Somebody's gotta sell here. I'm sorry dude. Have fun with your wood carving career though. You're really interesting. And your shirt isn't ironed properly. But that's okay because you're an artist and it's okay for you to have creases in your shirt."
I continued my ironing that night with a new sense of purpose and a new set of goals. All I have to do now is get really good at enslaving men with my good looks and charm, and then the ironing will be like a surprise. Like a hidden talent. And I won't tell him until the day after the marriage papers are signed and all of his shirts will be perfectly ironed and he'll say,
"Shady, did you do this? Did you really do this?"
MORAL: There is no moral because I no longer need morals. I am going to marry rich and nothing is going to stop me.
(Just kidding. I couldn't ever really marry rich because I can't even do the tricking-you-into-thinking-I'm-pretty thing. I don't really even iron exceptionally well. Also I passed most of the finals and probably won't end up homeless. Don't worry, Christie. There's always the postal service.)
I am the only person left in the family who irons. Everybody else just stopped wearing clothes that required it. And the ironing board is just barely holding on to the wall with half a screw and I wait until the house is dark and quiet before starting because I don't want a kid to come dashing through the hallway and get burned.
And it was on this night when I ironed a crease in a shirt where it wasn't supposed to be and shouted
Then, it dawned on me.
It isn't that I am absolutely sure to fail. It's just that it's likely.
There it was.
The night before finals.
The loophole.
I could marry a businessman.
This is what happened in my head that night:
Ironing? Totally useful.
(sometime in the future)
The only problem was - well, there were a lot of problems.
I'm not exactly a natural trophy wife. There are a lot of factors involved.
I could be perfect at ironing, right? Like, totally pro. No creases. Ever. And then there'll be some guy in a flannel someday start telling me about his favorite authors and I'll have to say, "I'm sorry sir, but ONE of us has to marry rich. Or at least end up halfway successful. Somebody's gotta sell here. I'm sorry dude. Have fun with your wood carving career though. You're really interesting. And your shirt isn't ironed properly. But that's okay because you're an artist and it's okay for you to have creases in your shirt."
I continued my ironing that night with a new sense of purpose and a new set of goals. All I have to do now is get really good at enslaving men with my good looks and charm, and then the ironing will be like a surprise. Like a hidden talent. And I won't tell him until the day after the marriage papers are signed and all of his shirts will be perfectly ironed and he'll say,
"Shady, did you do this? Did you really do this?"
MORAL: There is no moral because I no longer need morals. I am going to marry rich and nothing is going to stop me.
(Just kidding. I couldn't ever really marry rich because I can't even do the tricking-you-into-thinking-I'm-pretty thing. I don't really even iron exceptionally well. Also I passed most of the finals and probably won't end up homeless. Don't worry, Christie. There's always the postal service.)
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