The Iron
By Amy Miller
We just bought a new iron two weeks ago.
I was excited to play wifey with it, and iron things for my husband, just like the movies show wives and moms doing. (some of you might chuckle at that). So while Trevor went to run errands, I thought I would try it out on his dress shirts, and have them wrinkle-free for his Sunday-dress.
You need to know two things before you judge me. I don’t remember the last time I used a real iron. In college and part of high school, if something needed to be ironed, my hair straightener seemed like a quick and great substitute. Also, our iron at home was really old school and seldom used.
I opened the box of our brand-new iron, found the instructions, and started reading. Or should I say, started looking at illustrations. What kind of company would only display (terribly-drawn) illustrations, and no words for their manual?! The answer is Rowenta. Yep, I had never heard of them either. Anyways, it was all down hill from there. The water I filled into it, poured out of the iron onto my ironing board, his shirts, and myself. And in the middle of this sudden tidal wave, I decided to pull out the plug from the outlet, with my wet hands and wet cord. A huge spark came out and I probably should have been electrocuted. I moved rooms. I guess because I thought that would solve the problem. Nope.
Water still poured out, no matter how many times I looked at those instructions trying to understand how to make that thing work. I stopped caring and just started ironing. And if I burned a hole through it, so be it. I continued doing this with a frustrated look on my face, but when Trevor walked in that front door, I immediately put on a proud face as if I had been ironing shirts for years! I didn’t want him to know how much I struggled with something as seemingly simple as an iron, on our first two weeks of marriage. I later told him about the mishap and we laughed about it.
This experience made me realize that I will never be the perfect wife, and I am OK with that! Trevor doesn’t expect perfection, either. At least I tried, right? And I will keep trying, because aside from ironing her husband’s dress shirts, THAT is what a wife does.