C has a very big deal interview today. This evening, J and I will celebrate his attempt at success with a nice dinner out. Trying isn't easy.
I tweaked his resume last night and ironed his shirt this morning. Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, I ironed his shirts. I loved doing it. Ironing was not only an art form, but an expression of my support and the love I felt for my new husband. I appreciated how hard he worked for his family.
As I stood over the ironing board, tugging and pressing a seam here, searing my work into place there, I remembered my young hopes. They seem distant and not unlike an old faded shirt. Someday I will not iron anymore, for whatever reason.
If you rub the starch into the fabric before you place the iron, you don't end up with white flakes. Slow and steady wins the perfect collar. Press it inside and out, then folded.
The perfect crispness of a garment is temporary. As soon as you lean into it, it is gone.