Taming the Boogieman

This is boogieman territory.

This is boogieman territory.

This morning I woke up at 2.10 with the feeling someone was in my bedroom with my husband and me. I could only think it had to be the boogieman!

Until then, I was warm and snug in bed and the night was quiet, too quiet. I climbed out of bed and went into the kitchen where the refrigerator hummed its happy tune telling the world it was contented because it had a full belly. In the lounge room the street light intruded into our home, thankfully. I didn't have to turn the light on and destroy my night vision. I stood in the dappled silver light and peered through the lacey curtains. No boogieman out there.

By now I'm wide awake, so I peer out all the windows and am pleased to see the world still out there with no alien critters creeping around. So what do I do now that I'm wide awake? I spy the ironing in a corner waiting patiently for attention. Ironing is something I didn't miss on our travels around Australia. However, my husband is now back at work, and I like to support him as main bread winner, so I take the ironing board out, and turn on the iron. Meanwhile, I still feel the boogieman is somewhere close to me.

I switch on the light but there's no boogieman standing next to me. If he is, I'm sure I would have let out a scream that would wake half the sleeping world. Perhaps, he didn't like ironing either.

I take a shirt from the pile of freshly laundered clothes and spread it across the ironing board. I lift the iron and I give the task of ironing this shirt my full attention. It's fluro orange with a reflective stripe around the middle. My husband's job is Environmental Health and Safety Office for a large company that supports the mines in Mackay. The heat and steam come from the iron under my hands and it moves effortlessly over the fabric. With each push of the iron the wrinkles disappear.

I often play games in my mind about putting myself in the minds of inanimate objects in this world. I pretend I'm the orange shirt. What does it feel like to be ironed in the dark, scarey, early hours of the morning?

Hot! Even though it's winter. The best thing about being ironed is that my wrinkles disappear leaving me smooth and radiant. I feel young and new again, although I am a little faded from sunbaking after a swim in the washing machine. I don't like hanging around in the dark cupboard with the boogieman, ruins my reputation. My colour though means I glow in the dark, to keep the you-know-who man away. The best thing I like about being me is when the cupboard door is opened I'm shining and ready to hug my wearer. There's nothing nicer than being wanted, able to protect and just be a brightness in this chaotic world.

After I iron the shirt, I hang it on the door knob and I feel safe for the first time since getting out of bed. That colour and the reflective strip is a beacon to the boogieman to beware, here lurks danger. I complete the ironing and climb back into bed. Perhaps ironing has its uses afterall - to keep the boogieman away.