An Iron Is An Iron Is An Iron

So, here's a funny little story for you, as I begin to clean out my hall closet.

(Yes, still having dinner with Jamie. Just not until 7:30pm.)

When I moved out on my own for the first time, my Other Mother Mary bought me an iron. I think it was Mary. Anyway, this was a good iron. I don't iron much, but dammit, I had a good iron now.

I brought it with me when I moved to Seattle. I kept it when I lived with my roommate because he was a dude and didn't own an iron. I kept it when I lived with Mike (yet another mistake from hell) even though he had an iron. It was fortuitous. We broke up a month after signing a year's lease.

Then came the back-n-forth living situation with Steve. Still kept my iron. He had an iron, but since we lived together for a few months, then apart for a few months, then back together for a few months, I just kept the iron. It was almost a security blanket at this point.

After five years of living together, that iron found a home in the bottom drawer of the spare dresser in the office. I said something to my mom about it one day, how I really should get rid of it because we don't need two irons. But for some reason, I just couldn't bring myself to put it in the Goodwill pile. Mom called me a weirdo.

"It's an iron. You can buy another one if you ever need one. Just get rid of it!"

But the iron stayed in it's place in the bottom drawer.

Then Steve and I broke up. Ha, Mother! I don't have a bed, a couch or an apartment, but by gawd, I HAVE AN IRON!! VICTORY IS MINE!!

Let's skip ahead.

Two weeks ago, I was looking for an iron at Todd's. I couldn't find one. I finally asked him if he had one, he said yes he had one, and went off to fetch it.

Then he came back and said he was misinformed.

He did not, in fact, have an iron.

[pause]

Get it?

I have an iron! I shouldn't have had an iron, but I do! And Todd doesn't!

See how everything in the universe just falls into place? It's craziness!



No, I haven't been drinking.
Why?