He needed to iron a shirt. Short sleeve. Cotton. Button up.
Been so long since he’d ironed a shirt. Used to do it almost every day in the military and quite often when he was in marketing. New materials and different work activities and standards had lessened requirements to iron.
He was still using their thirty-year-old iron. Why not? It works. He figured smart irons have finally arrived, though what a smart iron would do, he doesn’t know. Probably robot irons have arrived, too, just give it the shirt and it’ll know what to do. But he had to manually do it, setting up the little board and then plying seams, collar, yoke, sleeves, and most treacherous of all for him, the placket with steam and heat to make it all look unwrinkled.
After all that, he didn’t wear the shirt. Oh, well. It’d be ready for next time.
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