The Dumbest Possible Way to Unplug the Iron

You're about to head upstairs
To take a shower, maybe
Perhaps to read a book
But no!
There sits the iron
Much too hot to leave sitting around
Heaven only knows how you plugged it in
There's a floor lamp in the way
And a chair
And a couch
And the ironing board itself

The iron keeps smirking at you,
In a look what you've gotten yourself into now sort of way
You have no choice but to scale the looming mountain of furniture
(God forbid you try to move it out of the way)
So you bravely take the first step
The first of many harrowing steps
Onto the chair
You grab hold of the couch and slowly reach behind it
Towards the dreaded outlet that holds your worst foe
Your fear increases as you imagine the monsters that could be lurking
Right behind you
Or in front

You strain and struggle forward,
Until you brush the lampshade with your bum
You watch in horror as the lampshade tilts askew
You see it shift in slow motion
Your breath catches in your throat

And then
You hear the ominous creak
That can only mean one thing
You have nudged the ironing board
Oh, the horror
There go the scissors,
Clattering with an awful noise to the ground far below
The stakes have risen
You feel a drip of cold sweat slither down your back
Terror grips the pit of your stomach like a python

You tilt your torso so that you fit between lamp and board, 
And wish for longer arms
And finally,
Not without toil,
Do you reach behind the sofa
And grab hold of the plug
But what is this!
It will not budge!
You pull harder and harder
Attempting to wrench the plug from it's place
Is this some kind of sword in the stone type thing?
You think
If I pull this out will I be the ruler of England?

But finally, finally, it comes loose
You shimmy and wiggle the plug from its former home, 
And at last you climb down the furniture mountain
Holding your vanquished prey high above your head in victory

But of course no one is around to cheer