Some things you just can’t make up…
Dear Naked Ironing Guy,
When Mr. R. first told me about you, I didn’t believe him.
“Hey, check out the naked guy ironing,” were his exact words.
“No way,” I answered.
“Way,” he replied, in that tender way that married couples have of communicating with each other.
I looked out the back window and across our lawn to see you, indeed, standing in your house in front of your window performing this mundane task in flagrante delicto. Which was perhaps your point. Naked ironing is less mundane than the regular variety, I suppose.
Butt, (snicker), at what cost? Imagine your unsuspecting neighbors, girding their loins (snort) for battle as another day dawns, looking outside simply wondering what the day may bring, and what do they see? Your heinie, shimmying back and forth as you diligently press the wrinkles out of your Van Heusen. Nobody wants to see that.
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