Sweet Irony

On the slaveofmistress-s blog, SOS' spring post about not ironing his Mistress' clothing got Me thinking about how I would react in the same circumstances.  I love ironing.  It's meditative and an unusually primal feeling, one that carries a lot of happy in it. I've even toyed with acquiring some of the old cast iron irons, and fantasized about using them instead of My delightful Rowenta.  When I visit Mount Vernon and other historic homesteads, I am always particularly fascinated by the laundry house.  When I'm feeling nesty and have a little free time, I enjoy ironing My collection of linen tea towels, folding and stacking them neatly all together, far away from their lesser cotton bretheren.  Last time I got so in the zone that I ironed the linen sheets.  I enjoy laundry generally, perhaps because I lived over 15 years in a 4th floor walkup without a washer/dryer.  There's just something so comfortable and homey about the faint sounds of My little euro, front loading w/d set, whirring away.

Only one boy has ever attempted My laundry and it wasn't successful, despite clear instructions, since he insisted on loading the washer too tightly, using too much bleach, as well as occasionally melting My spandex clothes in a too-hot dryer.  As you might imagine, he's gone now.  I have developed a progression of tasks I train with a new boy, usually sweeping/vacuum first, then dishes. Only after trust is very well established will I ever again let a new boy upgrade My iOS. Laundry is about the last task I would entrust, not just because of the financial impact of errors, but because I'm a very sensual person, and I choose My garments first on the basis of fabric.  If a garment does not have a nice feel on My delicate skin, I don't even consider taking it into the dressing room. Silks, wools, cashmere, pima cotton, linen of every application I can find... My carefully chosen fabrics give Me a lot of pleasure, and I want them baby-ed to stay that way.

I haven't seen the post on how Mistress S handled SOS's failure to iron Her work clothes two mornings in a row. It would be a big deal to Me. I have a bit of a linen fetish and slipping into a pretty linen blouse in the summer, fresh and crisply ironed, is a rare form of delight.  Sliding in between two ironed linen sheets for the first time is such a feeling of joy and well-being. I don't care to be called a Queen, but ironed linen sheets make Me feel like Royalty indeed.  When I go to kinky camp, I love walking around wearing nothing but a large, gossamer piece of pretty linen, which doubles as clothing, towel, and all purpose, poolside accessory. If I had instructed that a linen blouse be ironed and ready for Me to wear to work, and was disappointed, yes, that would be a non-trivial problem for the boy responsible.

Someone once asked Me what is My personal definition of luxury.  I have long answered that it is visits to pristine tropical beaches and custom made clothing/shoes.  Both of those fantasy images assume ironing... the linen dress and deck towel at the beach, the custom linen blouses.  I will even admit to lusting over a Miele mangle. No room for it, of course. But a wonderful boy who loves to serve Me, to whom I could entrust My laundry, and even My ironing... now that would indeed be luxury of the highest order.