Iron

I can do this, it's just an iron. Just plug in the iron, set the shirt on the board and run the iron over the shirt. Simple.
Jeremy looked at the iron sitting in its cupboard with trepidation. Hand trembling he removed it, and gingerly set it on the ironing board.
Okay, plugged in and heating up. Time to lay out the shirt. 
I think the iron should be hot enough now. How do I know if it's ready? He touched the tip of his finger to the plate of the iron. OUCH! He sucked on his finger. Hot enough I guess.
Picking up the iron he held it above the shirt hesitating. Maybe I could get away with wearing it wrinkly? No. I can do this.
Steam rose up, gently caressing his face as he gently ran the iron over breast of the shirt. Hey look at that! 
Five minutes later, and a few moderately frantic calls to his mother Jeremy has a freshly pressed shirt. One look in the mirror, and he ran out the door for his interview, confidant in the knowledge that if he could iron a shirt; an activity the he previously thought he would never be able to do, that he could in fact nail the interview.