Preparations

I've finally done what I swore I'd never do: I bought an iron.

Yesterday, P and I went on a little shopping excursion. I mapped out our bus route and we were out of the house bright and early, ready for the day. I'll have to remember never to take bus #14 ever again. Early Saturday afternoon, and already the bus is full to bursting. Wending it's way through the bleak streets of Vanier, we were kept diverted by the squabbling of mothers herding flocks of children, while at the same time pushing immense strollers packed to bursting with toys and diapers. I winced as new passengers had to carefully dodge the rowdy children and squeeze between the army of strollers, while the bus bounced and jerked on every pothole. To make space for the departing mothers and their flock, no less than 8 passengers would have to get off the bus and patiently wait for the herd to disembark. Little wonder when the bus driver had a few choice words with one of the mothers, who simply shouted back at him in self-righteous anger. Is it just me, or does anyone else dislike public transit in Ottawa?

With no further incident, other than P receiving a bite from one of my grumpier moods, we were off to pick up some steel-toed shoes for school. I am sure this is the same store that one of my coworkers had so much trouble returning her boots to last month. At the cash register, the clerk was VERY insistent that I keep a copy of my receipt, in case I wanted to return them.

We then went over to the St. Laurent Centre hoping to make a quick purchase and dash out. I have never liked shopping centres - they are filled with people and noise and chaos, no more so than on the weekends. We had the joy of walking into some sort of Juno event, with over a thousand people all crowding around the stage. P and I rushed through the crowd, dodging people left and right, trying to make our way through as quickly as possible. There was no way I was going to turn away from the mission at hand: to buy an iron.

I never thought the day would come. I've been able to scrape by with nothing more than a steamer, which barely makes it out of the cupboard once a year. But orientation yesterday put the fear of wrinkles into my heart. We were warned ominously by at least two people that we would be thrown out of class if we were not wearing our complete uniform, freshly pressed and wrinkle-free. And that is how we found ourselves bargain hunting for irons on my last weekend of freedom.

It was quite a feat to get that ironing board home, I'm surprised we made it back with our relationship intact. P and I both were getting more and more irritable as we repeatedly had to shift the board to let people by on the bus. I'd like to reiterate: I hate public transportation in Ottawa. I dream sometimes of having my own car and breezing through to the stores, putting all my items in the back seat (not on my lap) and going home. Just like that. No fear of someone braining me with their backpack when they turn quickly or awkward jerky dances with strangers to get to a seat.

And that is how I found myself on Saturday night at 10 o'clock ironing and hemming my pants. It's strange, but there is something so satisfying in a little bit of domesticity. It's always so painful to think about and make myself do it, but once started I can't seem to stop. There's bliss hiding somewhere in a cleanly pressed shirt and tidy room.