I used to think I liked ironing. I did. Call me OCD, but starting my day in a clean, crisp, white shirt was important to me, and if that meant it came down to a good old fashioned steam ironing, that was what I was prepared to do.
At the time I lived on Long Island, where I grew up. I lived in my parents’ house, where there was a guest bedroom dedicated solely to folding and ironing laundry. I had it rough, I know.
When I moved to my first New York City apartment, I soon found that my limited closet and drawer space meant I would not only have to iron every day, but each shirt would now take twice as long.
I tried to make it work at first, but in a matter of a few short months, I was showing up to work in wrinkled shirts. Not very Sexy American Boyfriend of me, I know [...]
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