I don’t iron anymore.  mostly.  But I still talk about it because it left a deep mark on my psyche.  Mind images filed from a childhood where clothes were hung on the line to dry on Mondays so we can iron on Tuesdays.  Down to the cloth napkins.  I was nine when my grandmother decided I was old enough to learn how to make real biscuits.  Ten when it was time to know about canning.  Twelve when I decided I would never marry.  I would be a waitress.  No wait, an actress.  Little did I know we are always both.

Call me crazy.  

Call me coco.