We’ve decided to go GREEN at my house. Well, my wife has decided to go green. I have decided to go . . . greener than . . . not . . . green. This means we truck our own bags to the grocery, recycle everything we get our hands on, and we do our errands together, to save gas, and wear and tear on the roads, or something. And. . .less dry cleaning. NOOOooooo! I have to have crisp pants for work! The last time I tried to iron a pair of anything, it was my high school band uniform, which later, after the smell of plastic filled the room, I realized was made out of 100% polyester. How was I supposed to know? Ask my wife to iron my pants? You’ve got to be kidding. I’m a LIBERATED MAN thank you very much.
Look, I believe in green-ness and all that, but the average person has 30,000 days of life on earth, roughly. 40,000 if you’re lucky, and a lot less if you’re a man! I don’t want to spend. . . let me do the numbers. . . crap I don’t have TIME to give you the numbers– I just know I don’t want to spend my precious life span ironing my pants to just go sit down on them at work! Argh!
So, I found the Corby 4400W Pants Press. Looks like a machine for an old man– whatever. That old man might live a day longer since he doesn’t have to iron his gosh-dern pants! Anyway, it’s like having Alfred, Batman’s butler, press your pants. It’s even hand-crafted in England! Okay, put the pants in, close the thing, hit the snooze button, on your alarm clock– you’ve liked earned ten more minutes in bed. Meanwhile, the Corby presses your pants, evenly, unlike YOU. When it’s done, it shuts off automatically, without burning the things . . . unlike YOU. It has a change tray to place the things from your pockets, and a built-in hanger to hold your shirt, which doesn’t need pressing as much because it’s tucked in your pants and hidden under your jacket. Did I mention that the machine presses your pants?! Done. Even hits the wrinkles behind the knees– you know, from sitting at you desk ALL DAY. I need a flipping vacation. Green . . . next thing you know my wife will have me in a yoga class. NOOOooo! Alfred . . . get me my pants!