Mood:
on fireNow Playing: Law and Order, SVU/CI
Topic: planet Miss O
Darlings, sometimes even a Glamazon like Miss O has to deal with thrilling household chores like laundry (buh), dishes (double buh), and ironing (there are not enough buhs to capture the depravity of this activity - and isn't this the reason that dry cleaners exist?!).
I used to be "in shirts", and one of my responsibilities was to iron crisp cotton shirts for display. Clearly some karma I had to work off...anyway, it was the most dreaded part of my job until one day I scorched the sleeve of a $300 shirt (by mistake! I would never knowingly endanger a piece of cotton piqué) and I was deemed beyond rehabilitation and relieved of ironing duty.
The time is currently 12:24 am and I am preparing the inventory of my spring collection for an upcoming trunk show. For the second consecutive night, I have spent three plus hours at the God blessed ironing board. By some miracle, I have not burned the house down nor damaged any fabric. And, in fact, I am not as miserable as I thought I would be. If anything, my ironing skills have improved and I am more patient. Perhaps it is because these are my own creations and I actually give a damn. Or perhaps it is because I am in a trance after watching six back-to-back episodes of Law and Order.
I'd like to thank Detectives Briscoe and Green, Benson and Stabler, and Goran and Eames for their support. And, of course, Lieutenant Van Buren, Captain Cragen, and Mr. McCoy.
Fashion Alert! If you lack the skill (quite frankly, unless they have served in the military*, I haven't met many men who know their way around an ironing board...I'm just saying) or patience to wield an iron, puh-lease send your shirts to pressing. Miss O likes light starch, but that's a personal choice every boy must make for himself. Few things can kill a look like a slovenly, wrinkled shirt. On the flip side, I have actually dated guys because they had a nice crisp collar. Don't judge, Darlings, we all have our weaknesses.
*Speaking of men in the military...when I was in college, there was an adorable guy in ROTC who lived in my dorm. Let me tell you, those cadets know how to put together a snappy outfit. He would shine my shoes like nobody's business! Lest you think that my shoe fetish and Domme tendencies are a recent development, I have documented "episodes" dating back to the age of, conservatively, 14. But oh, those ROTC guys...(insert dreamy expression followed by good lighting and softporn soundtrack). There was one named Tom and another named...damn, what was his name?
