I married my gardener. She is also my mechanic and, on a good day, I can even get her to wash my car. Some people are just lucky I guess.

My wife, Christine, actually likes doing these things, which is fine by me because I dislike most of them. On the other hand, she has never seen the inside of Publix and would not know how to operate an iron if you gave her instructions.

That's right sports fans. I do all the ironing in my house, and I want you to know, I am very good at it to boot. My son Christopher, a nursing student pursuing his RN, is the cook in the house. All three of my sons are excellent cooks, as is Christine. She simply finds it more convenient for Christopher, affectionately known as "Gutt" to do the deed on the grill.

To show you how much of a "sick puppy" I am, I spend my Sunday afternoons working the week's laundry. Just to tick my kids off, I put creases in their blue jeans, which drives them crazy.

One of the kids I used to coach in Pop Warner went up to Gutt one day as gave him a compliment on the crease in his blue jeans. "Crease serious, cuz," he said with all the best of intentions. Gutt explained that his old man had too much time on his hands on the weekends, so he irons.

My wife banishes me to the bedroom with my trusty ironing board, all the Corona I can drink and enough sunflower seeds to get through a NASCAR race.

Next she puts on the television, tuning into the weekly meeting of the rednecks called "das racin' and wishes me well as I scream and yell at the television because my boy Dale Earnhardt, Jr. is getting his clock cleaned yet again another week.

Occasionally, she will stick her head in the room to deliver me a meatloaf sandwich and some inspirational comment like "turn left, Junior, turn left!" She then disappears before I can find something to throw at her, and I resume my ritual of screaming at the television set and ironing.

She tells me that when Earnhardt is doing well, I actually iron faster. Since he appears to be on his game this year, I am actually getting through the ironing process much quicker these days. Last year was a bear, I have to tell you. Earnhardt failed to make the chase and I was beside myself, occasionally ironing deep into the night.

Now I'm so happy with Earnhardt Jr. this year that I have taken to ironing underwear and towels. I have given a whole new meaning to 90 degree angles (I love squaring away underwear). And I live for pleats and specialty items like silk. I am such a sick puppy!

During station breaks, I seek out Dr. Phil or West Wing to fill in the down time. I used to click over to the Atlanta Braves, but a man can only sustain just so much frustration in his life before he reaches a breaking point.

Before you can even say "boogity, boogity, boogity… let's go racin' boys" I've made my way through another pile of clothes to send the troops off for the week with fresh creases.

I wonder what the shrinks would think of my behavior. I must admit I like the organizational process of getting the clothing of the house in order. I guess I'm a closet "controller" deep down and this must be some extension of the need to fulfill that behavior. It's better than yelling at your kids and kicking the dog.