I would like to discuss with you one of my greatest pleasures in life, and to let you in on something very unique and special to me.

It’s scalding hot, and oh-so-steamy. And it’s not something people often discuss.

It’s ironing.

A tedious household chore for some, ironing is one of my favorite things to do. While I’m probably not going to pass up a night out with friends in favor of staying in and ironing clothes, I have been known to iron while friends are over.

What can I say? It just makes me happy.

As a strong, modern young woman, I don’t exactly fit the mold of those who are likely to spend time ironing. In fact, some feminist types might say that I shouldn’t be ironing at all — that it shouldn’t be a woman’s duty.

But I guess that’s where I see a difference. Ironing is far from a duty for me. Very rarely have I felt obligated to press a shirt or skirt — and if I do feel obligated, it’s because I want my clothing to look presentable. Not because I am a woman and it’s my job to make them that way.

I vaguely remember the first time I ironed. My mother, who did feel it was her duty to keep my clothing wrinkle-free, had pressed one too many creases into my khaki pants. I asked her to step aside and let me give it a try.

Together, we witnessed something miraculous.

I was a natural.

My touch subtle but firm, cooperative but unyielding, I guided the iron in a dance across the fabric. We watched the wrinkles disappear, and we were astonished to see that no new creases turned up in the old wrinkles’ places.

I started with the standards: dress pants, button down shirts, and the like. Nothing that required me to mess around with the fabric settings or the steam levels on the iron.

The process of setting up the ironing board was and is the only hassle in the activity. Whenever I fold it down, it never seems to stay on the track.

Before I can start smoothing the fabric, I have to endure an involved tussle with the metal legs and the track positioned along the wall. But, over the years, I’ve learned the ironing board’s tricks, and I can now coax it into cooperating with me after a little teasing.

Eventually, I started ironing anything I could justify putting underneath the steamy instrument. Polo shirts were and still are my favorite, but I’ll even iron a plain t-shirt if it’s a little wrinkly from sitting in the drawer for too long.

Recently, I’ve become more comfortable with experimenting with the iron’s settings. I’ll slide the lever based on the fabric content listed on the garment’s tag, and take extra care with clothing that might be sensitive to the heat. It’s almost an art form, at least while I’m in the moment.

What is it about ironing that makes me love it so? Well, I came to a solid conclusion several years ago — and while I am not a psychologist or a psychiatrist, I believe I know myself well enough to make these connections.

I am, in every sense of the word, a perfectionist. I fit the personality type, well — perfectly. I am very rarely comfortable submitting a piece of work until I know it is the best quality I am capable of producing. When I iron, I have the chance to take wrinkled garments and work at them until they are smooth and crisp as they are supposed to be.

I also suffer — although I’m not sure that’s the right word — from obsessive-compulsive disorder. A mental disorder commonly associated with the perfectionist personality type, I was officially diagnosed when I was in 4th grade. Part of the behavior associated with OCD is ritual. The simple motion of going back and forth, back and forth, over and over in the same spots, is very comforting to that aspect of my personality.

And the two combined — my goodness. I can ritualistically move the iron back and forth, over and over, until I end up with a perfect, wrinkle-free product. It just doesn’t get much better than that.

So because of this, a pink ironing board was the first item I purchased for my college dorm room. And whenever I’m stressed out, I take a pile of clothes to the ironing board and have at it.

 — Jessica Opoien is a freshman in pre-journalism and mass communication from Marinette, Wis.