Such A Chore

Ironing

Kim hated ironing.

She always ended up leaving half the pile unfinished, purely because she couldn’t stomach finishing it. Then, when she felt she could be doing better things, she would have to complete the chore.

The fact that she had to stand in the same place for hours to do it annoyed her almost as much as the tediousness of the actual ironing. It made the job that much more tiresome.

She just loathed the job, period.

“Kim?”

Brendon’s voice floated easily through the bus, due to the size and how naturally loud he was. She frowned and sought out the singer, wondering what he wanted.

He was standing behind the dreaded ironing board. Only his flimsy boxers covered the crucial area, the rest of his skin was bare and shamelessly on display. Brendon was such an exhibitionist, not that he would put in those exact words.

“How’d you work this thing?” he asked her, pointing lazily at the iron. He picked it up, and Kim’s eye flickered to the waist band of the boxers, which dipped to expose more of the flesh on his angular hips.

Oh, Kim just loved ironing.
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One down, three to go.