It's Saturday night. So, of course, I have to do the dreaded Sunday ironing before I go to bed.
There is not one chore in the whole world that I detest more than ironing.
So, while the iron heats up, I am looking at the pictures on my hard drive.
Here is a picture from last week when LG's shirts were ironed.
I am sure that none of these shirts are in the closet now.
They have all joined new phases of the laundry cycle.
The phases are:
One - the first dirty laundry basket in the bedroom.
Two - the second laundry basket in the laundry room.
Three - pretreated or soaked.
Four - Being washed (at least I have a machine that does this, unlike my dishes)
Five - in the dryer.
Six - within the pile in front of the dryer.
Seven - being folded.
Eight - being put away or hung up. (Phase Seven and eight can differ on an average of two days)
Nine - Being taken from the hanger and worn (and ironed if necessary).
It doesn't really matter what phase these shirts are in right this second. All we need to know, for the story's sake is that these shirts are most certainly not still ironed.
LG wore one to work every day this week.
And he was a very happy man when he didn't have to iron every morning, like usual.
I was not the woman who ironed these shirts.
This is where my post title comes in.
I have every reason to be worried because
my friend Valerie was.
How do you get a Valerie, you wonder?
So have I.
So, is "ironing shirts" what friends are for? I don't recall those lyrics from the song.
I have pondered this question. What are friends for?
I will post about my answer another day.
Right now, I need to sleep so I can stay away (ha ha, just caught this typo when editing - this is supposed to say awake) at church tomorrow.
But, I will not sleep without telling Valerie THANKS.
And without leaving you this funny story.
A few years back Abigail received a shirt from one of her friends for a birthday present.
She sat down to write her thank you cards.
I was glad that I caught this spelling error before I mailed the note:
Thank you so much for the S-H-I-R-T. (but the R was left out)
I loved it.
So, maybe friends aren't made for interesting birthday gifts or even for misspelled thank you cards.
Maybe they are made for doing the chores you hate most.
What do you think?