I don’t iron.
When I was growing up, my mom had one of those water sprinkling bottles that she’d use on the clothes before she ironed them. I remember thinking that bottle was the coolest thing. She ironed every one of my dad’s shirts, as crisp as could be.
Once a week, she’d pull out the ironing board and spend an hour ironing shirts while listening (easy listening) to the radio.
When I first got married, I remember doing something similar in a modified, I’m far lazier than my mom kind of way, but shortly thereafter, I abandoned the antiquated notion that I could be a good housewife.
Now, I hardly EVER iron. I might iron a dress or a skirt when I’m sucker punched into having to wear one, but for day in, day out, ain’t gonna happen.
Besides, that’s what wrinkle release sprays are for.