I have this special relationship with my iron. I love it when I use it in sewing construction. I love opening up a fresh seam and pressing it flat, and shaping a dart into a nice rounded curve. I'm a master at getting the iron point to fold over the tiniest strip of fabric into a narrow hem. Then when the project is done, I lovingly give it one more final pressing.
But once I am done, I send the item off to live a life of it's own, like a bunny mother sending her children into the wide, wide world, never to return. I'll try hard to never use the iron on them again. I hate maintenance ironing. I'm not a fan of any laundry task, and least of all ironing. I have a closet full of wrinkly clothes to prove it! Why is it that it's fun when I'm creating, and evil drudgery when I need to simply get the clothes back into wearable condition? Oh iron, iron, why art thou so fickle?