Thursday, May 5, 2011
Strike while the iron is hot
"Why?" I asked him.
"Because my pants are wrinkly,” he said. "And I have a meeting today. The big shots are gonna be there, and I have to look neat."
"On top of the dryer," I told him.
After a few minutes, I heard him in the other room, looking for the iron. Then him setting up the ironing board, the legs of it making squeak. Then, after a few more minutes, a scream.
"What's wrong?" I said, running to the other room. "What's going on?" I saw him holding his thigh and the iron was on the ground.
"What's wrong with your leg?" I asked him.
"What does it look like is wrong with my leg?" he told me. "It got burned."
"With what?" I asked him.
“Weren’t you using the ironing board?”
He shook his head.
“I ran out of time,” he told me.
“So what were you using, then?”
“Nothing,” he said.
"Nothing?” I asked him. “Don’t tell me you were ironing your pants while they were still on your body," I commented, and when he didn’t answer, I assumed it was true. J