1500+ Times Ironing and I'm Back

**Disclaimer: The title could mislead the two of you that might read this to believe that I actually did the 1500+ irons, that is not true**
I haven't blogged in what, two months? I call it a case of massive writers block as in it could almost be a joke like 'Your writers block is so fat when it sits around the house, it sits AROUND the house.' Or this one which was always my personal favorite, 'Your writers block is so fat when it saw a schoolbus it yelled "CATCH THAT TWINKIE!"' Well I am here to tell you that something finally happened to break the cycles of the 'I honestly have nothing to write about' syndrome. Are the two of you interested in knowing what finally broke the cycle? An iron. As in an iron that you iron your clothes with. Yep, this post is all about the fact that my iron died and went to iron Heaven this morning. I know, what a boring thing to blog about huh? Wrong, you know why? Because if I were to tell you that my husbands hands are on an iron as much as a fourteen year old girls are on her cellphone, I would still be light years off. Nick's iron is his constant companion, always there to smooth away the problems... in other words: cheap therapy. When I heard him yell from the hallway where he does his ironing that our iron has bit the dust, the inside of me panicked. Thoughts just flew through my head: What is he going to finish his ironing with? I should go give him a comforting hug and tell him it's in a better place. I wonder if it has run into our first ironing board yet, you know the one with the squeak that the upstairs neighbors loved. What flowers should I get for the funeral? He broke my train of thought by reminding me that we did indeed have a backup. I sighed a giant sigh of relief. Shockingly enough, we only received two irons for our wedding. I am sure this next one is going to phase out quicker than the Backstreet Boys big comeback but it was nice to know that he had a backup plan. I should more appropriately refer to it as a rebound, it's hard to get over that first true love of your iron. There is only one problem, according to Nick it smells like an old person. First my gluten free cookies taste like an old person and now the iron smells like an old person, I am beginning to see a trend. Oh well, he has his new lady iron now that fits the perfect description of a rebound; inconvenient, wired, twice the size of your old one, looks like it's straight out of the 80's, and it smells. He's going to turn out just fine.