Wednesday, January 21, 2015

An Open Letter to the Creator of the Modern, Household Ironing Board

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.


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