The irony of ironing.

I think it's fairly safe to say that ironing is something a lot of women don't much care for. In any event, it's something most of the women in my immediate family are glad that they don't have to do very often. It should also be noted that this observation is generally accepted as being a banal, unremarkable comment as is the statement that John is a thoughtless dick because he doesn't have the blindest idea that its sheer mindlessness is why Elly despises it.

I'll see that platitude and raise it with another. The bromide I'm about to lay on you is that at some point in the past, dumb men and women in denial preached a gospel in which mindless, backbreaking labor was supposed to somehow complete women and fulfill them. Since Lynn was more than likely brought up to believe that the sort of chores she doesn't really do are supposed to delight her because she had a uterus, the disappointment they instill in her because she has a cerebral cortex must have been a dangerous act of rebellion.

The reason I spout this wild-ass guess is that back when she was starting out, it must have seemed almost cutting edge for her to admit something everyone secretly knew all along. Where it all falls down is that hating ironing is common knowledge everywhere save in the babyish brains of shlumpy idiot sitcom husbands so seeing her bellow about it isn't fresh any more.