I like to iron. I like how the task takes all the creases and lumps and bumps and makes them smooth—a metaphor for life.
I like the bursts of steam—the warmth and the pssst; a bit of music to my ears.
Men used hankies when I was a kid, big square white ones, and it was my job to press my dad’s hankies; to make them perfectly flat, the corners lined up evenly. And if there was embroidery on the hankie, such as an initial or some emblem, that embroidery was to end up in the bottom right-hand corner (the rules very precise).