Of all the chores I hate...

(Was suppose to be up in the Santa Cruz Mountains for our bi-annual retreat.  But there was a wild fire that prevented us from going up there.  Nothing near as bad as the Camp Fire up in Chico.  Man... may God's mercy be on all of us.)

Chore - from the 18th century middle English for the word "char" or "charre" which meant an 'odd job'.  We've evolved that word to our modern day vernacular to 'a routine task, unpleasant but necessary.'

There are countless chores in a house.  Whether you grew up doing chores to earn an allowance, or you finally had to embrace it in college... it slowly creeps up onto you.  It's like a plague... or like taxes.. its always there, it won't go away, and like the definition said, it ain't pleasant.  But you make the most of it... or you figure out a way around it.

I found a post I wrote about 6+ years ago... on folding laundry. And though it ranks pretty high up there... It doesn't come close to the one that stands out as the one I hate the most... Ironing.  I hate it.  I HATE IT!!  Nothing can be more pure but this pure HATRED that I have. HATE IT!!!

I just spent 1.5 hours ironing about 10 of my shirts.  1.5 hours!!!  90 minutes!!  (Wow...9 minutes per shirt.  I suck.)  Why do I have 10 shirts to iron... well... I guess it doesn't help that some shirts have laid there for weeks if not months.  Heh...

And my iron is from my college days.  I bet it's not even hot enough to make a good crease. Which is why it takes so long!! But I'm too cheap to go buy another one. Heh-heh...

And unlike folding laundry...or vacuuming... or to some extent doing the dishes... you can do a half-@$$ job and no one knows!!  You can't SEE it.  But with ironing.... it has be to perfect!  From the military, I guess, but men are judged by the sharpness of their shirts and pants.  If it ain't sharp enough to slice cheese.... it ain't sharp enough to please.  (I just made that up)  And it's hot... and steamy.  Like a pile of.... y'know... Heh-heh-heh....

I still remember when I was 4-5.... mom was ironing in the living room while big-bro and I played.  Mom stepped away for a moment and (WHY ON EARTH DID I DO THIS??) I put stuck my two thumbs straight into the hot steamy iron!!  OWWWW!!!!!  Maybe that's the source of my fear or aversion? Heh-heh-heh-heh...