I promise. I’m not about to rant about politics, weather, humanity or anything at all.
At most any time, you can find me seated in front of the steamer, carefully working on clothing before they go out on the floor. I am truly, madly, deeply in love with my steamer. My old one, that came with the store, has developed a short — something I suspect is not good in a water-related appliance. So I had to buy a new one. It has more bells and whistles, but I’m not quite sure it stands up to my old friend in overall quality, but my fingers can attest that it certainly gets HOT!
So, why am I so enamored with the steamer? Now on some level, I knew this to be true, but it did not seep to the forefront of my consciousness until I started to shop for old faithful’s replacement. And here it is . . .
I am a germophobe, not quite of the Howie Mandel degree, but definitely a conscientious objector. So, this simple fact set my synapses firing. Ever the diligent steamer to begin with, (I hate wrinkles, but I hate ironing even more. Don’t do it. It’s that simple.) I now find myself ever more intent upon this exercise, which has always been a Zen endeavor.
Now you have it. You know why I am so steamed and catch a wee glimpse into my psyche — scary place that it be. And you can take comfort in knowing that the clothes you get from reFresh are (Oh do I dare say it?) freshly steamed.