More Starch Than a Potato

The wonders and glories of having a brother in CAP. One of the many surprises it has held for me (even though I'm not really supposed to be involved) is my intimate acquaintance with the particulars of starch.

At present, my lil' bother's uniform is freshly starched and ironed awaiting the meeting tonight. It could probably stand up by itself for a while, but when it did at last crumple into a heap, I would have to iron it again. And that I don't have time for.

The whole process takes me about an hour to an hour and half to do well. My lil' brother is not lil' in the sense of height and if each inch were equal to a year, I'd be almost 9 years his junior. Anyway, most of this length is in his legs, so the uniform is really long. And way too wide. But that's another story altogether.

By the end of the hour, my hands are completely covered in starch. The iron, ironing board, uniform and I are incredibly sticky, damp, and disgruntled. Alright, maybe the last part applies only to yours truly but there's enough frustration on my part that there is quite enough to go around.

So I'm sticky. And damp. However, most of the frustration has passed. I just hope the inspecting officer of the evening isn't too picky...