The other morning, the Cock said, “there is a specific way that a shirt should be hung up.”

Really?  Because I thought that your preferred method was to take off your nice dress shirt and to throw it on the floor next to the dirty clothes hamper, leaving me to wonder if it is clean or dirty, or if you are just storing it on the floor to avoid my terrible shirt-hanging style.

Apparently a shirt should be hung with the top button buttoned to preserve the integrity of the collar.  That way the shirt doesn’t lose its shape when squished into the overcrowded closet.  Who knew?

I believe I said something really mature, like “Gee, sorry.  I’ll stop hanging up your shirts for you and just leave them on the ground where you drop them.  Is that the specific way you like to hang them?  You can just take care of your own shirts and I’ll stop messing it up.”  Nice.

After he left for work, I didn’t really think it had been a fight.  Maybe a less-than-mature conversation, but neither of us are morning people, so I chalked it up to that and figured I could make a nice gesture by ironing some of his shirts for him.

That’s when I realized I don’t know how to iron a man’s shirt.  I mean, I wore collared shirts for my last office job, and I ironed them, but it was kind of a half-assed effort.  I would iron the collar and the front of the shirt and go to work confident that my sparkling personality would distract from my wrinkles.  I plan to apply this same logic to my face, as I age.  Anyway, his shirts apparently require a specific technique.  I mean, if hanging must be done in a certain way, I figured ironing must require some sort of specialized training.

I googled “how to iron a man’s shirt” and let me tell you, there is some INFORMATION out there!  Who knew that it was a 74-step process?  Or that reading the instructions would require not one, but two dictionaries?  I found one woman’s blog post on the subject particularly helpful because it included pictures.  Seriously.  And the best part about it was the wallpaper in her living room.  I’m talking early eighties, faded flower print EVERYWHERE!  It was awesome.  I think she may have had matching upholstery on her sectional.  Plus, she suggested tucking a sweet love note into the pocket of your man’s shirt, which is pretty cute.

As I was doing this important research, my phone rang.  It was my man.

“Hi babe, what’s up?”

“I will never argue with you about how my shirts are hung up.  I don’t want to, thirty years down the road, be that guy who’s screaming, “Well, you never ironed my shirts right anyway” as you throw all of my stuff out onto the lawn.  Anyway, I have to get back to work.  I love you.”

I love that man.  I’m thinking the love note in his shirt pocket may just have to be a naughty one.

 

 

 

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