From Abbie, who gets hot under the collar for iron men:
The dress shirt he's wearing may not be the most expensive garment in the world. Heck, it might be a poly-blend, bargain bin leftover for all I care. Because right here, right now, that is the most perfectly ironed garment I've even seen.
When he got dressed this morning, he didn't grab some rumpled heap of fabric that's been sitting in his dryer for three days. He didn't throw on a Rolling Stones t-shirt with more wrinkles than the band itself. And he certainly didn't put a sweater vest over a crinkled Van Heusen thinking no one would notice.
No, he plugged in an iron. He set up an ironing board. He started with the collar, worked on the cuffs, and then moved on to the front and back. He finished with the sleeves and left them with a crease so sharp it could slice through room-temperature brie. Then, by golly, he let the whole thing cool down before he put it on.
The only downside is that I can't leap into his arms and demonstrate my appreciation for his proper apparel maintaninece skills because I don't want to ruin all the effort he put in. Instead I'll just take him delicately by the arm and march him through the streets of every major metropolis in the United States. I will stop each grungy male we encounter and say, "THIS! This is how it's done! Look at the shoulders! Look at the darts! They're smoother than a baby's butt! This is what you should be doing!"
Then I'd let him get back to whatever business meeting, church congregation, or international espionage event to which he's heading to. Well done, sir. I offer you my approval, my appreciation, and my phone number.