Australia's erstwhile Opposition Leader Tony Abbott has tickled the nation's funnybone/moral outrage button again: this time for suggesting ironing is still the primary domain of the womenfolk.
Should we be surprised that Tony's missus is the one picking up the Tefal Aquasteam more than People Skills himself? After all, his preferred attire is Coogee-special budgie smugglers or skin-tight Lycra bike wear - neither of which require much pressing. By anyone. In any way. Ever. Ew.
What I find most hilarious is that Tony Abbott turned up at the clothing manufacturer/place-where-irons-would-be at all. The guy's so well-known for being a do-lally-Christian-family-values-type, there was no way he was escaping that shirt shop without drawing some criticism over a remark in the "get back in the kitchen" vein.
Which means, of course, that in this election year we can look forward to more gut-wrenchingly funny appearances by Tony Abbott in shoe stores ("Shouldn't you be barefoot and pregnant?"), childcare centres ("We wouldn't need these if Mums would stay at home") and private girls' schools ("Now who do you want to grow up to marry?").
In the roster of household chores, ironing would have to be my favourite. I actually really like ironing. I can put the telly on and potter away with my Sunbeam Enduro (with teflon coating) for hours at a time. The most frustrating thing is the constant lack of coathangers to put the garments on. And don't suggest picking up some of those wire things. About ten years ago, my mother went on a Great Purge, ridding our house of all wire coathangers. Consequently I have followed this plastic-or-wooden only policy in my own home, and find wire hangers grubby to the point of being morally offensive.
The Wah is not an ironer. Never has been. He is what you might call a "natural crumpler". He often tells me I don't need to iron his clothes, and I do realise this. But being a contrary sort of gal I do it anyway because a) men's clothes are easy to iron and b) a big stack of ironed clothes makes me feel like I've accomplished something around the house.
Because before you label me some sort of anti-feminist anti-Christ, I must confess that I am deficient in virtually every other household task. Our kitchen regularly attracts unwanted insect life due to laziness in tackling saucepans and woks and other big items that won't fit in our mini-dishwasher. God I love the dishwasher. As far as I'm concerned, the dishwasher is one of best-ever inventions - below vaccination and Robin Hood movies, but above the internet and the space shuttle. A couple of years ago our dishwasher broke. I probably could have waited a few weeks to save a bit of money to buy a replacement, but no, I rushed out to The Good Guys the very next day and laid down a lazy grand on the plastic for a new one. I couldn't handle the thought of all those dishes piling up in the sink, knowing that I'd have to wash them.
I'm pretty terrible with general cleaning. Dust collates on everything around Chez Clumsy, and I don't sweep or mop nearly enough. Toilets and showers could do with more attention. Our rubbish bins should be emptied more often.
But far and away my biggest domestic sin is my habit of spreading shit everywhere. Surfaces that would otherwise be tables, or chairs, or couches, or ironing boards, become resting places for the unending glacier of books, papers, tech stuff, water bottles, hair dryers and straighteners and oh-my-god the make-up that never seem to find a proper home.
What's your least/most hated domestic chore - and, when he's not giving his daughters sexual advice, what do you reckon Tony Abbott gets up to around the house?