'Tis the season to be wrinkled'

It’s that time of year when maids and gardeners migrate to their homelands. The places they send their money to every month, to mothers who look after grandchildren so that a salary can be earned. Or to finish the house in their homeland that they'll only live in during the holidays or when they retire to look after their children’s children.

We don't appreciate them when they're around. “Where the hell did she put my little grater? I always put it here!” I say, getting more and more upset as my fingers flip over utensils I only used twice (like that olive pipper I really, really needed) and then a sheepish “Oh here it is.!” when I find it right where is should have been the whole time. That’s when I send out a little sorry into the universe for being hasty with my criticism of my hard working tolerant helper.

So Christmas time rolls around and I drop her off at the taxi rank with her 13^th cheque, the kids yell “Bye! Merry Christmas!” I drive away and the realisation sets in, I'm going to have to do the ironing, vacuuming, toilets and pots for the next four weeks. I calculate how long we can last without my doing the laundry. Will my husband do that old student trick of wearing jocks one day and then turning them inside out and wearing them again? Maybe I can teach the boys to 'go commando'. OK so hubby will never go for that, the kids… well they probably will.

Laundry day arrives, the washing is done and the pile of clean washing looms in front of me. My laziness makes me think about ways around my dilemma. I know from experience that folding shirts neatly, packing them into cupboards and wishing the wrinkles away will not make them silky smooth when I take them out to wear them. I usually use the tumble dryer to refresh the kid’s clothes and then fold them, so in my desperation I try it with our clothes too. A word of advice, jean wrinkles can't be removed in the tumble dryer so those I'll have to iron. I take them out and fold them carefully; an extra crease made means one that I'll have to force out later. The t-shirts come out all right, a little bumpy but not too bad. Oh well, maybe no one will notice if I only go out on overcast days and stay in the shadows.

Yesterday I had to go to the gym and of course, no ironed t-shirts left over, I’d gone through them all, even the one that has the hole in the side that I can sorta tuck in and hide. I chose one that didn’t look too bad and ventured out, super aware of how I looked but hoping that most people were on holiday or too much in the holiday spirit to notice. It was there in the gym that I started noticing all the other wrinkled t-shirts and sweat pants everybody else was wearing. I no longer feel alone, I belong to a sister and brotherhood of the maidless and wrinkled.