I just spend 18 minutes ironing a shirt. That’s right: a shirt. Yes, yes, I have a certifiably obsessive compulsive personality, but that’s only part of it. This shirt is a devil, and every ironing causes me to rue the day I purchased it.
It was last August, and I was out for a trip to the mall with my mom. When we make these trips, my mom and I often part ways as she suggests I look in a particular store while she goes her own way. It makes sense, but it is dangerous. This time, I chose to darken the doors of Express. Oh, frightful store! It screams of fashion trends with its bright colors and thumping music, and it lures me in with irresistable seduction. Whenever I shop there, I remember the blue and white striped shirt I bought two years ago. It’s an attractive shirt, but it’s nearly impossible to iron. Many times had my mom complained about it to me, and I insisted that she not worry about it because a few wrinkles were hardly visible on such a distractingly striped shirt.
On this day, I fought fervently to remind myself of the pestilent wrinkles and the ill-fitting pants (another matter altogether), but something caught my eye. A patch of bright, minty green shimmered among the stacks of forest green and tepid green. I didn’t even know “tepid” could be a shade, but there it sat.
As the minty delight beckoned me, I found it only polite to have a look. Lo, it was on sale, and behold, they had my size! Not only was it just $12, but the sleeves also came to my wrists! Extra time with the iron seemed a small price to pay for such a minty bargain.
Oh, but not so. For now I find I must spend 18 minutes ironing this dreadful thing just to make it look like I don’t store it in the bottom of my shoes. I’m an American, and time is money. As such, this shirt has already cost me over $100. Is that worth the incomparable green?
I think I’d rather go for a spluge at Brooks Brothers.