Penney's had a big sale on NO IRON shirts. Under their new policy they do not offer special prices unless it is truly on sale. If it is not a sale day, then the marked price is the every-day honest-and-truly-patootie price. When I arrived at the store, the "sale" price looked suspiciously half-again as much as what I paid several weeks earlier. Howver Jer needed the shirts so I bought a couple. From being folded on the shelves, I had to wash them before they could be used, and that is when I discovered that they are far from NO IRON, label notwithstanding.
All I can say is that it is a good thing I don't mind ironing but since I am a woman of a certain age, I'd like to think I can put ironing in the past like climbing up on chairs to get things out of distant cupboards, or washing my kitchen floor on my hands and knees.
But apparently that is not the case. I certainly won't be buying any more of Jerry's shirts at Penneys. If Jerry liked to wear knit polo shirts, that would solve the problem, but if I want him happy, and I do, I'll find and iron shirts for him.
In the meantime, while I write this blog about being irked, I look out the window of my office and see a beautiful California morning. The birds are at the feeder, Luciano Pavarotti is singing away on my computer, the sweet Squeaky is lying beside me in her watching box. How can I stay irked, I ask myself?