The other day I set a small personal record. In the ten minutes before I had to leave the house I ironed: 1 shirt, 1 top, 1 skirt, 3 pairs of trousers. Speedy Gonzales, me.
N.B. Fiona’s definition of ironing:
Ironing: The act, exclusively reserved for work clothes, of using a steam iron to remove approximately 60% of crumples, lessen the appearance of wrinkles, and work in several brand new additional creases.
Not to be confused with “The Award-Winning Parent” or “The Good Houswives'” definitions of ironing.
Ironing is a preliminary stage before my clothes are
carefully folded stuffed into a gymbag so I can wear them after my pre-work gym session.
That’s right – I am now a gym-goer.
N.B. Fiona’s definition of gym-going.
Gym-going: A means of killing time before work starts, having arrived early in order to avoid encountering other cars on the roads. Involves ambling on treadmills, footering on cross-trainers, and generally trying not to fall off equipment.
Not to be confused with Dad’s definition of gym-going, or any other definition involving the phrases ‘workout’, ‘intensity’ or ‘fitness routine’.
The first few times I attended the gym, I set the treadmill to Rolling Hills. I very quickly got angry whenever hills appeared, and since the answer to my repeated question of, “who the *expletive* put this hill here?” was consistently, “me”, and I couldn’t really find anyone to else to blame, I decided to remove the hills. Now I can happily close my eyes and imagine I’m jogging in the Netherlands. (Only joking – I most definitely cannot close my eyes while on a treadmill, as I would most assuredly fall off.) So, yeah – I tried the Rolling Hills thing; but until such times as they see fit to add a Gentle Undulations setting onto the treadmills, I’ll stick to the flat.
And from these musings I conclude that in any upcoming pursuit of new sports or activities, I can safely rule out Extreme Ironing as an option!