Wrinkles

Okay, so I’m not an ironer. When I lived alone and did my own laundry in the past, I always make sure that when I dry or hang things out to dry, they hang so that they are basically unwrinkled. I did iron occasionally, but you’d be amazed what wonders a hanger and a steamy bathroom can do. I can feel my mother cringing as I write this. Sorry, Mum.

Well, I’m learning my lesson now. Almost every morning for the last three weeks I stand in front of my cupboard looking, often desperately, at the trousers and skirts and tops hanging in my cupboard for a combination that first, works aesthetically, and more importantly these days, is perfectly straight with not a single wrinkle anywhere. Because after that, I walk out my door onto the covered corridor after the second bell rings and stand next to the head of house as she calls role, facing 27 silent Form Ones and after role call she asks them to look at the skirt of the person next to them. At this point, for the first week, she strongly berated them for their appallingly wrinkled skirts. The second week she occasionally (at my suggestion) recognized one nicely ironed skirt… just before she rebuked the rest for their wrinkled ones. You should know, these skirts looked perfectly ironed. And it’s not just because I’m not an ironer, I can tell ironed skirts and these looked fine, a few wrinkles here and there, yes, but mostly impressive, especially this was the first time many of these little Form Ones had ironed their own clothes. Today, after three weeks, they looked immaculate and she told them so.

There is no way I can walk out in anything that is not absolutely wrinkle-free.

Two nights ago, my head of house asked for permission to have a “bed drill”. What’s a bed drill you ask? I did too. Basically, you (if you a Form One) make your bed again, and again, and again, and sometimes again, until it is perfect, because, as we learned in a house meeting last week, the state of your room shows who you are. Oh dear. She can never come in my room. And I straighten like crazy when she comes for a meeting in my lounge.

I’m becoming an ironer.