Pressing matters.

Last night, before a screening of ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND, I started to tell Marley about my deep, dark, childhood issues with ironing, but she didn't buy it. I said I thought my mother had this scary, off-the-charts ironing fetish, and it scared me away from ever properly ironing anything. Marley defended my mother, saying she probably only intended for me to never leave the house looking anything other than my best.

I fold or hang clothes when they come out of the dryer. Yesterday's pants needed a touch up, but I refuse to iron. I don't own one. Or an ironing board.

My mom used to tell me that she didn't want me leaving the house unironed because of how people would judge her. Every morning would begin with a 45-minute ironing frenzy. If I put on a shirt after it went through the proper ironing procedure and she thought that an inch of the collar looked moderately unironed, my mother would order me to immediately remove the shirt so that the whole thing could be ironed again.

We'd be late for school because of ironing. Late for dinner appointments because of ironing. Late for movies. ("There are 15 minutes of previews!" my iron-fisted mother would shout at me, partly because she's 80 percent deaf anyway. I would tell her that occasionally the previews are better than the movie itself, but she wouldn't listen.)

Marley said that my mother was right that people judge you based upon whether you iron, for they do. I know they do. Marley said that people would consider you a slob if you didn't iron.

Well, I am a slob. Kinda. So I figure not ironing is my way of coming out or voicing silent protest.

Of course, I try not to be too terribly wrinkled.

I thought maybe that it's time for a style and image makeover to coincide with my trip to London. At one point, when I bought those awesome boots from Banana Republic that are downright painful to wear, that I'd come up with an occasion, while in London, to get moderately dressed up. Or I'd get dressed up for no reason, to make myself feel good.

I want to be chic. But, you know, like low-effort chic.