My son started high school and I'm faced with a frightening revelation. His shirts need ironing. Where did this nightmare come from, and why am I holding a steaming iron at 11pm? I don't iron. No need to. My clothes are casual, crumpled and many are even worn with holes. I don't care that much for the pressed look. So none of my clothes require the weight of hot metal and the shot of steam. Ok, I lie, there is a half silk-half cotton shirt dress I bought in Paris, but, well, that's Paris for you. You do crazy, stylish things. For years, our household has had a clear division of labour in this area. It has not been without contest and tears. I'm the non-ironer, who, unleashed from the board, 'doesn't know how lucky she is', apparently. Lucky, that is, that I don't have to iron shirts each week. This isn't necessarily a gender thing, it's a choice thing, isn't it? I choose to not wear high maintenance clothes; my partner chooses to we