Who Bothers to Have their Boxer Shorts Ironed?

I ask this question because one of the more demeaning jobs I’ve ever been subjected to was the task of ironing the boxer shorts of then Senator Bill Bradley of New Jersey. As instructed by Earnestine, his wife. That came off sounding a bit kinky. It wasn’t. Just a job and a boring one at that. The radio helped. Does it make it any more plausible that I was also instructed to iron the bedsheets? Apparently she, or he perhaps, had a thing with perfectly pressed cotton.

This story would be more titillating if his bid for president had seen more success. Though these days I’d say all bets are off when it comes to a potential story associated with a president.


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