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As I embark upon property management and care, vacation rentals of homes of French friends and the like, I realize like a slap in the face I have to iron the sheets.

I have poo-poo’d all my friends who spend HOURS standing up ironing, saying to them rather fliply, I’m a Californian. I don’t iron.

Beyond that, in our own home, I have ONLY flannel sheets — and one can get well away without an iron on them.

Well, that is no more possible. Guests want sheets that squeak.

The GOOD NEWS is, our dearheart French neighbors told us about a brocante not far from here that we really HAD to check out.

There are plenty of brocantes — most of them either overpriced or full of junk. They assured us it was worth going to.

Liam and I went about a month ago and indeed — it was FULL of treasures. Once every two or three weeks, whatever the going price is gets knocked down incrementally if it hasn’t sold.

What a great way to do business.

In that visit, I stumbled upon an industrial strength made-for-the-home German mangle iron!

I LOVE mangle irons — childhood memories took me back to hours — weeks — months — years of sitting in front of a large and very hot mangle iron set up in the open garage of my parents’ motel in Santa Cruz, California…

I  did all the sheets!

But buying one now? For old time’s sake? I don’t think so…

Today, reality bit.

I have 3 sets of sheets here sitting on the couch, per bed.

That’s four beds, so 12 sets of sheets. Wrinkled.

Today,  I thought if that iron is still there — I’d better grab it.

THE BETTER NEWS IS, I tore myself out of the house on this rainy Normandy day, drove just a little north-west of Avranches through a small village called Sartilly — and voila!

Guess what was standing right in front of me?

Yep. Saved just for me, I’m sure.

I plugged it in; it worked.

THIRTY EIGHT EUROS.

I  threw it in the back of the car and came home chuffed.

A good day in paradise.

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