The ironing board that I brought from the old country broke down. The cover started oozing some fishy liquid that damaged the clothes, and the board itself crumbed into tiny particles that spread all over the utility room and beyond. Reluctant as I am to throw things away, especially the faithful things from the old country, I planned to get a new cover, but never got round to it. Staffan took the initiative and bought a new ironing board at Tesco. I don't think he ruined the family's economy.
I don't normally iron a lot, apart from an occasional skirt or blouse, but I do iron table cloths. I love the crispy touch of a newly ironed table cloth. The thing is, when I have washed one after a fancy dinner, I never have time to iron it and so store it away after a few days or weeks, and when I want it again for another fancy dinner I always discover that it needs ironing. This is how I inaugurated the new ironing board today.
I couldn't help feeling sad about the old one, waiting in the garage to be transported to the dump - sorry, recycling station. Sooner or later, things from the old country will be replaced. When we no longer have any appliances with European plugs I will feel truly naturalised.