This happened when I was younger and still cared about things enough to iron shirts

21Nov06

Here’s another incident from my personal archives involving my housemate, Brain-Damaged Toula.

INT. daytime. I am attempting to iron a shirt in the kitchen. Brain-Damaged Toula is just puttering around.

Me: What’s wrong with this iron? It sure isn’t heating up very fast.

Brain-Damaged Toula [earnestly, as though she has perhaps run into this problem before]: Are you sure it’s a real iron? Maybe it’s a play iron.

Me [resisting urge to press hot iron into her face only because still it isn’t actually hot yet]: Goddamn Fisher-Price! I’m taking back that tool bench too!



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