When we were young my mother ironed everything and I mean EVERYTHING. Curtains, sheets, but not towels, for some reason towels were not deemed worthy enough to get the iron treatment, but if memory serves me correctly, mam maybe you can confirm this, I do have a faint recollection of her ironing my underwear once or twice. I may be wrong, but knowing my mother’s compulsion for ironing, I seriously doubt it. Ironing was something my mother took very seriously. No child or husband of hers was allowed out into the world without looking like they had be starched and pressed to within an inch of their lives. She didn’t care if we were only going out to ride bikes, play tag, climb trees or head to track practice, you were not getting out the door “looking like a tramp” as she put it. “What kind of mother would I be if I let me child out to play without a nice crease in their jeans or tracksuit?” Oh, yes, that crease was very important and yes, she even ironed it into our tracksuits, something my brother Edward and I absolutely despised. We’d beg, plead and whine for her not to put the dreaded crease in our jeans and sweats, “mam its not cool, nobody is wearing it like that anymore, seriously, stop“, but she flat our ignored us. And everyday we’d rock up to training looking like we were partaking in some sort of wedding olympics. The shame.

Fast forward to today and guess who just spent the morning ironing all her clothes, then packed them neatly (cough, cough) into her suitcase, where they will sit balled up for the next 12 hours or more, to be unpacked at their final destination of Brussles, Belgium more wrinkled then they ever were to start with?? Well, that would be me. Yep, logically I knew it was a waste of time, that all clothing will have to be re-ironed once I get to the hotel, but something in me, my mother’s DNA, would not allow me leave the house with a bag full of un-ironed clothes. I mean who wants to walk the streets of Brussels or pace-make the Diamond League women’s 800m “looking like a tramp?” , ah not me, I do however draw the line at the crease.

Also for this trip the only camera I’m bringing is my brand new point n’shoot, who for some reason is refusing to upload any photos to my laptop right now. Guess who’ll be spending some time with her camera manual on the 9 hour flight today? But not wanting to leave with a post containing not photos, I’ve included a random picture of myself, my boots and my camera, not my point n’shoot, taken by my friend Tessa many months ago.



4 Responses to “Finally, Like Mother, Like Daughter”

  1. Edward says:

    Sis,

    How you made sure thee creases are nice and straight. You may be on the telly and u r not making a wholly show of us all.

  2. Rupa says:

    Love the story — so glad you’re not going to look like a tramp for this race!! : ) When Colin and I were married, he half-seriously asked me if I was going to iron his shirts (which is pretty normal I think) and I was like “man, you’ve married the wrong woman!!”, and yes his mom ironed socks, sheets, shirts & pants (to a crazy crease) and I am sure an underwear or two in her day as well! I must secretly admit though that ironed sheets are the “bee’s knees” and I was totally in love with that little luxury when in Scotland!!

  3. Karen Shinkins says:

    Edward, get ready for a wholly show, cos I absolutely did NOT go with the crease in my booty short look. Tell ma I’m sorry.

    KaRupa, it must be a celtic mammy thing. And of course ironed sheet are fabulous, but not if I’m the one that has to do the ironing.

  4. Rupa says:

    Agree, sistah, agree! :)

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