Can you tell what it is yet?

I can barely remember what I had for breakfast by the end of each day. It does scare me, especially at my tender age - so I've chosen to ignore it. Some time ago, I treated myself to one of those 'press' type ironing gadget thingys. I quite like it. In as much as you can like a domestic gadget that you use repeatedly for a job you don't wanna do. There's no need to tell me that you don't iron and you have this trick or that trick - I have to, it's one my things. I look naturally untidy, so nicely pressed clothes at the start of the day is a good thing for me; it kinda gives me the confidence to step out. Anyway. I freecycled the ironing board as fast as you like once I'd got the hang of the press thingy. A teeny voice suggested I keep the iron - it's very difficult to do a nice dress shirt in the press, see. So I put the iron in the dead gadget cupboard with the box of baby clothes and the sombrero. I don't know how long I've had the press thingy - Miss Dunnit says at least 4 years. Good grief, and in all that time I haven't ironed a single dress shirt! So you're way ahead of me - in making this silly jacket for her upcoming Cosplay/Manga convention (at Excel London- who asked me that?) I did recall that all sewing type stuff is made so much easier if you iron as you go along; flattened and neatened seams and joins look so much less amateur (please note that I did not say 'more professional'). It isn't any wonder then that it took me longer to find the damn iron than it did to make the damn jacket. I looked in the dead gadget cupboard about 2 billion times - but it wasn't in there. Of course not. It was in the garage. Mr Dunnit had been using it as the heat source for a glue that needs 'curing'. I'm not gonna explain that, I'm still coming to terms with the fact that my life partner can let me think I'm losing my mind without batting so much as an eyelid. Really, I should ask if something I've put away isn't where I think it is - but I'm so often obliquely 'accused' of tidying things away that I couldn't bring myself to admit that I'd forgotten doing it. But if it's really four years, and if Mr Dunnit had moved it from the dead gadget cupboard, I was in the right really, huh! Good news...the part of my memory that harbours a grudge seems to be OK! Sadly, the sewing skills are just as amateur as I remember.