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I have something else to add about this topic. And it is called ironing. I hate, loathe, despise, and abominate ironing. If I could choose one household task to be rid of forever, ironing would have no competition.
For much of my life, ironing wasn't something I minded. Once every two weeks or so, I quickly press out the wrinkles of a skirt. Not really something to get upset about. But then I got married and the trouble began. You see, my husband is a rather large man. XXL to be exact. There are many advantages to having a large husband. For example, he doesn't need a ladder to change the lightbulbs. Also, even when I am nine-months pregnant, he still outweighs me by over 100 pounds. My psychological health is grateful that we never have to check the tags to see if clothes are mine or his.
But there are a few disadvantages to a XXL husband. It's not much fun to sit next to his long legs on a flight. And the ironing. If you dry those XXL clothes in the dryer, the sleeves are too short for him. Which means we hang dry pretty much every shirt he owns. Which also means that we iron pretty much every shirt he owns. Which means that I now hate ironing.
It wasn't so bad when we were still in college and he wore jeans and t-shirts most days since we don't bother ironing those, but now he wears dress shirts 4 or 5 days a week. He has a phobia of being called to be bishop someday. I share that phobia, but my reasons have less to do with him having to deal with the ward's problems and more to do with the increase in ironing a few extra items per week. But don't worry we have a plan to keep him out of that calling and it is called "Floyd will get a job at Budweiser."
In the meantime, I would like to share with you some of the worst offenders:
Exhibit A:
Not a bad looking shirt, but the trouble is those teensy little pinstripes make my eyeballs ache and my head explode. The good news is it irons well.
Exhibit B:
Linen. Enough said.
Exhibit C:
Obviously this is not Floyd's, but it is an ironing beast. First, it is also linen; second, the top has these little folds (pintucks maybe?) that are lovely to look at, but not so lovely to iron; and third, it has an underside that also needs ironing or it doesn't look very nice.
Exhibit D:
The worst. The fabric wrinkles like crazy and is very hard to iron and it has all sorts of little pockets and folds that are super duper tricky. But the reason I hate ironing this one most of all? It is a fishing shirt which means I get to spend 10 minutes ironing a shirt that he will wear to the lake/river to catch fish in. Ridiculous, no? I am thinking of instituting a wear-only-three-times-per-year rule. Which I'm sure he would strictly adhere to.
So what's a girl to do?
Here are my best ideas:
1. Convince Floyd to become a farmer and wear only t-shirts and jeans.
2. Invest in an ironrite. If only we had the room.
3. Look into dry cleaners' ironing services.
4. Replace all items of clothing with shirts like this one he has from Lands End that doesn't wrinkle even if you hang dry it.
In the meantime, please don't look too closely at what my husband is wearing. Ironing is not one of my special talents.
***I would like to note that Floyd actually irons quite a bit, just in case you are going to refer me to a feminist creed about equal household task division or something. The problem is just that there is so much of it. In graduate school (during which time I read plenty of feminist creeds) I once read a quote that said, "I hate discussions of feminism that end up with who does the dishes. But at the end, there are always those da**ed dishes." And that's how I feel about ironing.***
Obviously this is not Floyd's, but it is an ironing beast. First, it is also linen; second, the top has these little folds (pintucks maybe?) that are lovely to look at, but not so lovely to iron; and third, it has an underside that also needs ironing or it doesn't look very nice.
We had lots of fun coming up with rainbow food and decoration ideas for the party together. Who knew there were so many ways to make a rainbow?
I think the guests had a good time. Especially your little brother.
And of course, the cake was yummy and the presents were amazing - everyone spoiled you. I think you had a great party.
And we all had just enough celebrating left in us to have a bit more fun a few days later on your real birthday.
Here's something I hope you remember: your real birthday rainbow. It was so pretty.
Happy birthday, Petunia. We sure have loved the past four years with you.
PS - Did you know the first date Floyd and I went on was to the fireworks? Yep. It was. Just a few weeks after my 16th birthday. Exactly half my life ago. 
She got me. Sometimes parenting all comes down to semantics.
