One of my friends in college said that she found ironing calming, so whenever she was getting stressed out about a test, she would go around to all our rooms and collect any wrinkled clothes and iron them all for us.

I have mentioned this in here before, but I find it fascinating that my parents (like everyone in college with them in the late '40s-early '50s) mailed their laundry home each week in specially provided packaging. [link]

I love that.

I own an iron. It's around here somewhere.

I would never have asked my mother to iron, because I'd get another round of how she ironed her brothers' Army uniforms.

I own an iron. It's around here somewhere.

Mine is in some dark corner somewhere.

My mom will do my laundry when I bring it to her house (which I sometimes do when visiting because her laundry does not require quarters), but only if she gets to it before I do. I do not ask nor do I expect her to do it. I always run a load of clothes the day before I leave of everything I've worn that week because...no quarters needed.

I used to have an iron. I might still, who knows?

My uncle was allowed to mail home his laundry from college/grad school, but my mother was not. Also, she paid for her own grad school, while my uncle did not, because my grandparents reasoned that he would have a family to support some day. They promised to try to pay her back later, and lo, when my grandmother died there was an account with my mother's name on it... which my uncle pouted that he deserved 1/2 of (and got, for the sake of family peace).

I did at one point own both an iron and ironing board, but at some point I decided they weren't worth moving and left them behind at the old apartment.

You are my hero.

I try to lose mine but my mother always seems to make sure I at least own an iron and board. I suppose it's so she can iron when she's here? Lord knows I don't use them. Or know where they are.

Once bunch of us were gettting dressed for a wedding and I watched my Grandmother and her sister Mimi argue over who got to iron my Uncle Mark's shirt.

Mimi's argument was that she NEVER gets to iron Mark's shirts and Grandma could do it next time. My Grandmother argued that Mark hasn't lived at home in YEARS and goodness knows when she'd get to iron his shirt again.

Meanwhile, I was standing in the doorway holding a dress. In time, each of my sisters appeared holding their dresses.

Apparently we were poor substitutes -- the children could wait and iron their own dresses while they fought over a grown man's shirt.

I have an iron and an ironing board, but I can't remember the last time I ironed anything.