I hate to iron. I refused to even own an iron until my kids got into high school and didn't care for the wrinkled look that the "no iron" fabrics left. They got an iron and an ironing board from a second hand store and asked me to show them how to iron. It figures.
I learned how to iron when I was nine or ten. I started on pillowcases and sheets (yes folks used to iron sheets)!
I was chastised if there was as much as a crinkle. The tiniest fold was sponged or sprinkled with water and I was told to iron it again.
Then I graduated to my stepfather's factory work uniforms. Did you know that people who worked in factories used to wear ironed uniforms? When I was sufficiently adept at work clothes I was graduated to white starched shirts. By Jr. High school I could have worked for a laundry.
In ninth grade, all the girls were required to take Home Ec which taught us to sew and cook, in which I was already as proficient as I was at ironing. First we had to make a "Little House on the Prairie" type apron which had a bib in front like overalls do and wrapped half way around ones waist. I don't think I ever wore it.
Our next project was a skirt and I figured I would make a gathered skirt because there was very little sewing and no fitting to do and the hardest thing would be the zipper.
We were warned to pre-shrink our fabric and iron it before we brought it to school. I picked light blue denim and put it carefully in our washing machine even though my mother (a professional seamstress at the time) said it was silly to pre-shrink a pre-shrunk fabric. I explained that our teacher was a stickler for obeying her orders and if she said pre-shrink it, I was going to pre-shrink it. I took it out of the washing machine and meticulously ironed it dry being carefully not to make any "cat's eyes" as those little folds in ironing were sometimes called. I folded up my material and took it to school the next day in the bag I had purchased it in so it would not get dirty or wrinkled.
I pulled the three yards of denim out of the bag and started to lay it out on the table so that I could cut off the waist band when Miss Miller grabbed my material from my hands and snarled, "I told you to pre-shrink that material!"
"I did!" I protested.
"Don't lie to me!" she stormed. "I can tell that this material has never been washed and ironed!" Then she marched over to the sink and threw my material in and turned on the hot water.
I was in shock for about thirty seconds and then I ran from the room and fairly flew downtown to the store where my mother worked. I was blubbering so hard by the time I arrived that she could not even understand what I was trying to say at first. When she finally got the message, she excused herself from her job and took me back to the school to the principal's office where she explained the situation.
The three of us went to the Home Ec room and confronted Miss Miller. My mother explained very politely that I had indeed washed that denim material, staying up late the night before to iron it dry. Miss Miller was obliged to apologize to me in front of the whole class.
I didn't think that was sufficient. I thought SHE should have been the one who had to iron those three yards of material she had unnecessarily wrinkled and soaked in hot water, but I was the one who had to do it.
Even that incident, traumatic as it was, didn't cure of me ironing. I was married and the mother of two adorable little girls and was still washing and ironing even though I worked full time and was going to school part time. Sometimes I got a little behind in the ironing and would pull clothes out of the clothes basket early in the morning, sprinkle them down and iron them for my little ones to wear to pre-school, my husband to wear to school and me to wear to work.
My aunt who lived in a different state had given us two matching dresses for our girls and they looked so adorable in them, but the dresses had ruffles upon ruffles and required every ounce of my expertise to iron. We went to visit the relatives one summer and I did not bring the dresses.
My aunt said, "Where are those pretty dresses I gave the girls?"
"At home," I replied.
"I'll bet they are balled up in your laundry basket unironed!" She sneered.
"You are correct," I answered. "And if you ever want to see them in any clothes you give them, you had better make them wash and wear because when I get home, I am going to give my iron and my ironing board and every article of clothing that requires ironing to the Goodwill and I will never iron again!"
And I did! And I haven't!