The Little Bug That Is No More

Let me just start this by saying that I've pretty much given up ironing clothes. And, luckily for me, my husband doesn't mind ironing - he irons his work shirt every morning and often takes care of any of my things with wrinkles (other than my face, neck, etc.).

And he's very meticulous about his clothes. Has this blue striped shirt that I found the other day in the washer with a load of towels. When I told him that the shirt was NOT happy about being tossed in with the "riff-raff" (shirts can be so stuffy), he said he put it there intentionally because there was some ink on it and he didn't want to get the ink on any other shirts. (Yes, he's also pretty good with laundry).

So, the next morning he was carefully checking the shirt for any remains of the ink before ironing it. Found one little spot and managed to remove it with some spot remover. The shirt was ready. All he needed to do was finish ironing it and put it on. As he rounded the last corner with the iron, a little silverfish dashed across the shirt.

Now a smart female would simple let the bug finish its path and then squash it, or flick it off the shirt. But a man? Oh, no. The first instinct was to show who was the toughest SOB in the valley laundry room, so Ed slammed his hand down on the silverfish. Immediately squishing him all over the last un-ironed spot on the shirt.

The next several minutes were spent with water and a rag removing bug innards from between the stripes. This is about the time I came in and saw him ministering to a large wet spot on the shirt. I innocently asked what happened. He looked up, glaring just a bit, and told me the story through clenched teeth. I immediately walked away so he wouldn't be offended by my laughter.

After all, don't want him to stop ironing MY clothes!