Curse You, Thangles!

I cannot begin to convey how much I detest the act of pressing anything.  That is why I wear clothes that go from the dryer to being neatly folded in my dresser.  And, yes, if you pull stuff outta the dryer fast enough, you don't have to press it ...trust me on this one.  (Hint: if an item's a tad too wrinkly, hang it up while  taking a steamy shower...the wrinkles will magically disappear.  And as added bonus, if you stay in there too long, your husband might join you--yes, I am rolling my eyeballs here).  I don't mind my crow's feet, why should slightly rumpled pants be any different?

I spent two hours today doing nothing but pressing open two hundred and sixteen of my Thangles squares.  Is it any wonder I could bite the head off a sixteen-penny nail?!?!  My daughter, enamored as she is of my bottles of spray starch, helped me by spritzing each one and I still can't get the darn things to lay flat.  This may be due to the fact that I have to rip the paper off the back of each of the little suckers-oh, joy!

I must say, they are rather cute even as they lay there mocking me, as if to say 'Why, yes ma'am, we do reproduce while you're sleeping'.  It's like the quilt-world equivalent of getting the middle finger.  A single package of Thangles makes a grand total of 450 of these babies.  And here I thought it was the kids that'd send me over the edge.