On our trip in July, there was an unfortunate incident.
There is one member of our family (I won’t name names) who has an extreme aversion to . . .
Ummmm . . . .
(How exactly do I put this??)
. . . wet undies.
Now, before you defend this unnamed person, let me explain that I completely and totally agree that no one should have to walk around in wet undies. Really. But this Nameless Loved One tends to FREAK OUT at the tiniest bit of dampness caused by all sorts of things that others seem to not even notice.
Well, after driving ALL day and then getting settled in our hotel room to sleep before leaving for the airport VERY early the next morning, we were down to one pair of clean undies per person.
Add that edge-of-the-undie-cliff situation to the unfamiliarity of a hotel bathroom and shower, and I’m sure you can guess what happened.
This solitary pair of necessary undergarments for this certain wetnaphobe got wet.
Oh. The horror.
This resourceful mama looked around (completely missing the hairdryer hidden under the sink) and decided to iron these undies.
The Child Whom I’d Really Like to Name But I Won’t was properly appreciative.
And I was proud. In a wow-what-an-awesome-mom-I-am kind of way.
Until this Appreciative-But-Too-Honest Child asked: Do you do that, Mom?
Supermom: What? Iron underwear? No way. (Deep breath to prepare for further instructive witticisms.)
Child-Whom-I-Kind-of-Wish-Wasn’t-So-Honest: No, Mom. I mean iron. Do you iron?
Slob Mom: Yes!! I most certainly do iron! At least twice a year, thank you very much! You just don’t see me do it. You know that thing on the back of my closet door that pulls dow . . .
Will You Please Stop Talking Child: Oh mom, I don’t need to know all that. I just wanted to know if you ever iron.