To the creator of the
modern, household ironing board:
I’m on to you. You tried to make us all
think you were doing us a favor. You wanted us to believe that this nifty,
lightweight, foldable-for-easy-storage contraption was meant to bless every
home that needs to de-wrinkle clothing. But I’m on to you. Your secret is out.
I know the truth. You hate all of humanity.
I, too, once believed that this slick,
pointed surface that stands on a pair of crisscrossed metal legs would make
life more convenient. And in one sense, it truly does. Thankfully we do not
have to take our clothes to the dry cleaner and pay them every time we need to
get wrinkles out. We can simply pull out the ol’ handy dandy ironing board.
But that’s as far as the blessing goes.
Because once you extend those crisscrossed legs in order to raise that board up
to waist level, it’s all over. Whatever thoughts one had of nicely ironed
clothing, perhaps with the fresh scent of pine still lingering, are suddenly
ruined. Whatever dreams one had of a warm and peaceful day are completely
obliterated with a shriekish, earsplitting, ungodly squeal from another world.
It’s hard to put into words how awful
that sound is. And it must’ve taken hours and hours of careful preparation for
you to craft the way those metal parts would slide against each other at just
the right angle so as to torture every human being who dared unfold the ironing
board without first putting in ear plugs.
I thought maybe my ironing board was defective.
Just maybe that earsplitting, skull-cracking, hellish noise that ruins every
day that might have started off with promise and hope, is simply the result of
wear and tear. But I’ve learned something over the years. They all make the noise. Every. Single. One. Doesn’t matter if it’s new
or old, worn out or not. It doesn’t matter if you unfold it fast or slow, held
upright or flat. It doesn’t matter if you’re in Kansas or in Florida. That
awful squeal is the same because they were designed
to make that gut-wrenching, trauma inducing experience every single time you
unfold those seemingly innocent crisscrossed metal legs.
And so, your hatred of all humanity is
exposed. One wonders what sorts of experiences cause a person to want to inflict
so much pain and suffering. I suppose we will never know. But now I’m going to
rebel against your evil scheme. If my dryer doesn’t get out the wrinkles, I’ll
just wear wrinkled clothing. I don’t care. Better to enjoy life than to suffer so
much for pressed shirts. I hope someday you can find peace. I know I will, now
that I’ve uncovered your evil plan.
Sincerely,
Mark
