Iron-y

With very little closet space,
My clothes get very wrinkled.
My husband’s quite okay with shirts
All rumpled, creased and crinkled.

But I am not, and so each day
My iron’s set to “Steam.”
I glide the hotness back and forth
Like I am in a dream.

You’d think my clothes would be so crisp
I’d look like a Marine;
But somehow, in my DNA,
I lack the ironing gene.

I only have a mini-board,
But that is no excuse;
A semi-wrinkled garment
Is the best I can produce.

I guess it’s quite ironic
That, as birthdays give me chase,
The wrinkles on my clothes
Are less intense than on my face.

Unfortunately, there’s no iron
For that, I’m afraid;
‘Cause if there were, I guarantee,
My fortune would be made!