Has anybody on here ever ironed handkerchiefs?
I have ironed inordinate quantities of handkerchiefs. On 4 sides.
We had no Kleenex in the USSR, obviously.
I also ironed mountains of bedding. When I got married at 19, I gave myself a solemn vow that I’d never touch another flat iron for the rest of my life. And I’m still firmly keeping that vow.
Not once. Why would you iron sheets??
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Crappy Soviet fabric. They felt like mountain ranges without ironing on both sides.
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“I have ironed inordinate quantities of handkerchiefs. On 4 sides.”
I’m trying very, very hard to imagine a 4-sided handkerchief… and failing….
Either in the late 1980s or early 1990s kora (lit. tree bark) textured bedclothes that were not intended to be ironed became popular in Poland and that was it for ironing…. I don’t use that anymore but hanging bedclothes to dry and then stretching them a bit does the job now.
I have an iron but very varely use it….
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You iron on both sides, fold, iron once, fold, iron once. Four total. :-)))
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“My dryer hasn’t even been plugged in”
Dryers are not really a thing in most of Europe… washing machines take a long time (average around 90 minutes) but the final spin cycle so that clothes extracts a lot more moisture and the clothes come out much dryer than what I remember in the US. Then they’re hung to dry, for all but the heaviest things overnight works fine.
I had a washer/dryer once (same machine) but only used the dryer once.. 90 minutes and not really much dryer than the usual extraction cycle…..
Handkerchiefs sometimes: They store more nicely pressed. Clothes as needed, Sheets never, except for repairs. 1950s American grandma ironed everything as she found it relaxing. Mom not so much as she had to use a steel block iron.
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I ironed hundreds of handkerchiefs — well, scores of handkerchiefs hundreds of times — when I was a kid. My mother paid me fifty cents an hour to do her ironing for her, and I needed the money. My mother was a firm believer that EVERYTHING needed to be ironed — including sheets, pillowcases, dish towels, dust rags, handkerchiefs, and my father’s boxer shorts. After I left home I never once ironed any of those things. I’ll never forget how horrified my mother was when she found out that I don’t iron my husband’s shirts. I said, “Mom, they’re permanent press,” but it was painfully obvious that she didn’t consider that an adequate excuse.
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