My Morning

I have an extra bedroom and I use it as my ironing/blocking room.  But with my daughter and family arriving tomorrow, I had to make room.  Seems wrong somehow to make them sleep on the floor.

This is what I found on the bed and on the ironing board:

Really and truly, I hate ironing, and although I'm not the only one to feel that way, I also know people who love ironing. I tend to let it all pile up (obviously) and then iron what I need when I need. It has sort of backfired. I have (according to Rowenta) a GREAT Rowenta iron, with the ability to put out lots of steam, and that should make the task easier and quicker. However, it's summer in Georgia, so lots of steam isn't completely a plus. It kind of feels like punishment for letting things get this out of hand.  As if the universe cared.

I've done what people I know who love to iron do. I brought the whole pile of clothing, hangers, the ironing board and iron into the tv room, and Monsieur Hercule Poirot kept me company. 

I spent some nice time with Hercule (I love him and I call him by his first name; he does not approve.) and finished the stack of ironing.

But then I checked the closet.  

Back to ironing. And Hercule.



WARNING:  In surfing the internet for information about the quarter of a century of Poirot episodes, I came across a spoiler about the final episode.  And it is SHOCKING, y'all.

Do not read the Googles about Hercule!!!  Seriously, don't!

Really and truly, don't.  :-(


(And just so you know, David Suchet says that he accomplished the sort of mincing waddle of Poirot by clenching a penny between his buttocks. I report.You decide. Ick or interesting? Your call.)

And I must say, if I say so myself, you really do get your money's worth here, don't you!