My husband came home delighted the other day, after buying a new iron.
His enthusiasm, expressed at length while admiring its purple hue, was crowned by the fact that it was a bargain buy.
What have I done right that he has taken on the mantle of iron-buyer and, indeed, ironer?
Has my studious ignoring of the laundry for month after month finally reaped the intended rewards?
Or maybe it was his mother before me who passed on the ironing gene.
Either way, I’m delighted. Now it’s time to ignore the lime scale in the shower and hope that my son decides he can crack my eternal struggle to blitz it in some bizarre science experiment.
Ah well, I can always live in hope.