That’s ImPRESSive!

In the developed world, you might see me in a museum, perhaps in display of domestic tools used by women in a Wild West frontier log cabin 200 years ago.  But in countries still mired in extreme poverty today, I am a prized possession.

My shape is instantly recognizable. But note that I lack an electric cord.

I am a charcoal-burning iron.

I make it possible for children living in mud huts to step out into the sunshine in crisply-creased uniforms on their way to school.  I am the one who allows women to carry their heads high, wearing their freshly-pressed best dress to church on Sunday.

Families that do not have access to me must “iron” their clothing by folding each item very carefully and placing it beneath a mattress, where body weight by night will smooth the worst wrinkles. 

Families who do own me will carefully train their daughters how to use me. The charcoal must be beyond red-hot to a searing white. You must keep me clean. You must avoid burning yourself or starting a fire by accidentally spilling my contents. 

But oh, if you use me correctly, your crisp wardrobe will be the talk of the village!

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