With both my girls in Girl Scouts this year I fully expected to be part of the cookie mafia. Oh yes, I’m a Thin Mint dealer. I can tell you how much any random number of cookie boxes costs. Go ahead and ask. I’m like the Rain Man of Girl Scout cookies.
One thing I didn’t expect with Girl Scouts was getting reacquainted with my iron—a household tool that’s as rare a relic as my college party mix cassette tapes.
The first time I brought home patches to iron on Miss A’s Daisy vest I started sweating. Could I DO it? I had asked at the meeting how difficult a level of domesticity this required and two veteran Girl Scout moms immediately chimed in that their husbands did all the patch ironing at their house. Alrighty then.
Even though I rarely iron, I am fully capable of ironing. I’m a big believer, though, in the slacker method of wrinkle removal: toss a damp wash cloth in with a cotton shirt in the dryer and voila! No wrinkles! I rarely buy any article of clothing that requires actual ironing. My husband does have a few button down logo work shirts but I shove them in the back of his closet, praying that he’ll never notice they’re missing.
Determined to be a top notch Girl Scouts mom and not ask my husband for assistance, I dug the iron out of the depths of our utility room, dusted it off, and plugged it in.
The girls came bolting downstairs to play and I warned them, “Don’t get near the ironing board! This iron is very hot and could burn you!”
They looked at the iron and looked at me and the first thing Miss A, my 5-year-old, said was, “What is THAT?”
I ended up caving after starting to iron on one patch and asking my husband to finish the patches.
After all, he was a Boy Scout.