It's a fine machine, it makes ironing a pleasure. Really, I'm being serious here.

I had an encounter in Target yesterday (yes, I only seem to be able to go as far as Target on my days off, the weather here encourages nesting with an unstoppable force) that the marketing department of a certain German manufacturer would have loved to have overheard. My dear, beloved Rowenta had been lost--lifted really, by a renter in Savannah. I don't blame the renter for taking the superior machine, use it once and who could blame her? In its place was left a sad, generic model that could barely warm tea, much less press a shirt. This inferior iron, in its despair for being despised, had finally flung itself off the board, dashed itself to cheap plastic bits on the floor boards below. So, I was inspecting the Rowenta offerings in the small appliance aisle. I was not alone. The other shopper looked at me, and said, "You must get a Rowenta." Turns out, her 15-year old classic Rowenta had just yesterday finally died. The look on her face was of real loss. I knew that look. We chatted and shared stories of our treasured tools, praising their qualities. The Accuracy--wives all over the world wish their husbands were this accurate with liquids. The Reliablity--the Synthetic setting never scorches. The Heft and Feel---the plate always glides. We had a moment. After some discussion of the preferred model (oh, how we yearned for the Professional!), we wished each other well with our new machines--as if wishing each other well with new marriages, as if we had shared this moment at a bridal shop.