Humor/Satire / How to iron jeans.

It is so unfair.

Your wife with kids took holiday near sea. But you have to stay behind for the next week because you have some meetings. The life is really unjust. You are here and your family is there! The disturbing thoughts of disappointment start to fill your head, but you don't surrender and with one vigorous shake of your head throw out all the unpleasant thoughts which fly like drops of water in all directions. Your eyes rest on the family picture.

'Children, for sure, are swimming in the sea. And Tilda is watching them. She sits in the bar, drinks beer and watches them.

Or maybe she's in her room watching televison. Nah. She never watches at this hour. So what does she do in the room? Without children! Who is there with her?'

You run to call her. The telephone is busy.

'O-ho! She left it open so that nobody will interfere with her. Not nobody: me!'

You begin to think which divorce lawyer is better. And close the phone.

The same moment you hear it ringing. It's her!

'Her? But she left an open phone near the bed and she is with somebody!'

"Darling! Children want to tell you something." 'What? She is not in the room?'

"Yes children, father is here."

"Pa, can you record some TV programs for me?"

"Don't you have a TV there?"

"We have, but I have no time for that. Pa, Dina wants to speak with you."

"Dad, I want those jeans mother put in the bin for the wash. Take them out, iron and bring with you when you'll come. Thanks."

Your answer enters the phone, runs through lines to the telephone exchange to be sent from there to your daughter, but the beeps, coming from the other side of the line, strangle it.

~*~

'Well, well. So Tilda was not with somebody alone in the room. Maybe she knew that I would phone…'

But your mind is already busy by finding your daughter's jeans.

'She said that mother put them in the washing bin. But when was your mother here? It was a very long time ago.

Ah, she meant her mother. So, where this bin could be?'

You check in every room. In the living room you look on and under the table, on the piano, behind the TV. Just in case, you check inside chandelier.

In the bedroom you look on and under the bed. Other than your dirty socks, old newspaper, 'How to keep House clean' book, glasses you thought you lost, Tilda's shoe heel, half eaten pencil, three dirty pieces of paper, a part of Cheese sandwich and a computer mouse you don't find anything. You just shrug - you would be surprised to find here this elusive washing bin. It's a bedroom, not a washing room. Thinking about other places to look in, you push everything back under the bed and go out of the room.

'Where it could be? Tilda didn't take the bin with her, did she?'

But when you go out to the porch to smoke, you see a washing machine.

'Is it ours?' You begin to analyze all the facts and deduce that it really is your washing machine. So the wash bin should be near it. It is but logical. Or is it?

You look around but don't see any bucket like a dust bin. There is some plastic cylinder almost to your waist, though. It couldn't be the bin.

Well, it seems, that this time your deduction was wrong, it is really the wash bin and you take everything out of it.

There are five pairs of jeans. All almost the same size. It doesn't matter as you don't have a clue of your daughter's size. So you decide to iron all five pairs - can’t be that hard after all.

~*~

You take them and go to find an iron. You vaguely remember how it should look, the memories going as far as the time you were in the university when your girlfriend would iron your clothes. You find an iron in the working room, but it surely doesn't resemble your memories. It's thin, with many plastic parts. And the iron you remember was a way heavier.

You check the iron in your hand. As a Mechanical Engineer it takes you just five minutes to understand how to plug the iron into electricity. It took you this long, because you were not sure which side of the plug was "plus" and which was "minus". So you closed your eyes and put it inside. Everything is okay.

~*~

You see an ironing board near the wall. You try to open it, but it slides out through the open window. Three moments later, you hear a hurt barking.

After paying to your neighbor for the vet for her Mitzy, you return home with the board. You close the window and try to erect the board anew. It doesn't want to stand quietly. Instead, it sways from side to side, resembling a drunken sailor's dance during a severe storm.

You go to the kitchen and find a string, with its help you fix the ironing board to computer. Now all is ready for your conquest of the unknown heights of the ironing art.

You put the first pair of jeans on the board and begin to move the iron forward and backward. Nothing happens. You press strongly down, but still, ugly wrinkles cut the jeans in all directions. As the last resort, you sit on the iron and feel that it goes down. Together with the board. Together with the computer. Together with the table on which the computer stayed.

You are so pi** up that take the iron and go to throw it through the window. Luckily for you, in the last moment you remember that the window is closed. The same instant you feel that the iron is cold.

Hmm. You should turn this ring on the iron to the left. Why they could not write it on the iron in bigger letters?

You look on the things on the floor, but instead of the jeans, you see yourself ironing hours after hours. You decide to go to dry cleaning. Let the specialists do the ironing.

And now you at last smile.