that I get any pressing done at all. With Lily (left) and Katie (right), jockeying for position on the small ironing board, I'm reduced to the sleeve board for most pressing, or setting up the big board in the living room.
Since the big ironing board is old and metal and screeches when I set it up, they leave it alone.
Something in this house that's mine, all mine . . . and it's the ironing board? That's just wrong.