It’s a little like revising. You write something, revise, reread, revise, send it to your critique partners, revise, etc. etc.
Sometimes when I iron, I mistakenly press in a few wrinkles and have to smooth them out. It seems the shirt will never be perfect. Don’t even get me started on trousers. Or a giant tablecloth. The minute one half is finished, it pools on the floor in a crumbled heap so the other side can be done. Ironing is a tedious chore. Once the garment is worn, the wrinkling begins. All over again. Ugh.
The big difference is, I actually like revising. Finding the best word that fits or writing a scene that ‘feels right’ is exhilarating.
I just can’t say the same for ironing.