Iron Men?

Do real men iron? C'mon, tell me I'm not the only straight guy who iron's his clothes. For Pete's sake, and for your own, too, ya gotta have uncreased shirts to wear to work. I mean, ok...I'll drag myself around the house & yard with droopy basketball shorts and an old, rat-holed shirt. And yes, I do mean holes created by a rat. We used to have a pet rat who would sit on the couch with us and watch Survivor. I think the show made her nervous because she chewed a lot. I have a lot of shirts with little nibble holes, and a couch that looks like swiss cheese. But I digress... Men, do you want to impress your boss? Particularly if your boss is a woman, or gay! They notice nicely pressed, starched shirts. And if you happen to have a straight boss, just think, you'll be outdressing him. That is, unless your boss is the Sr. Vice President and makes truckloads of money, enough to send his secretary out to get his shirts laundered and pressed at the local downtown Fresh as China Cleaners. But let me ask you this...am I going too far when I iron my Hawaiian shirt for casual Friday's? No? Good. This evening as the sun was cooling off and we took our girls outside to relieve some of their cabin fever, we ended up speaking to our neighbors across the street. Well, my wife took the girls out and I joined them a short time later as I was putting the finishing starchy touches on my favorite Hawaiian shirt. "Where you been, watching SportsCenter?" asked my manly retired neighbor. "No, just ironing my shirts." I replied with a smile His wife spit her cigarette out of her mouth and said, "What do you make of that, Ben? A man who does his own ironing?" My wife pipes up in her sarcastic way, "Yeah, and he sings and acts and wears women's clothes onstage, too. I wonder if I should worry about all those other men and his backstage shenanigans." "Yeah, Babe, this is the same husband who made you squeal more than once last night." SLAP!!!!! "Ow! Wha...? Did I say that out loud?" Well, needless to say, no squealing or groaning or funny Goofy faces in the Evil Baritone house tonight. Prolly not for month. Hey, is that a wrinkle in my drawers? Where's my iron? Gotta go...