For me, the trouble with washing clothes isn't the washing or drying: it's the folding and putting away afterwards. It's tedious and unrewarding work to my way of thinking, even though without this work all the washing would be wasted effort.
Ironing, though even more work than folding, is immensely rewarding. You start with a shirt that might as well have been lying in a crumpled heap in an alley, wrinkled seemingly beyond repair. You run a marvelously simple device over it. Suddenly, those ineradicable wrinkles are gone. You even have a split-screen effect: in front of your iron is crumpled fabric, behind it is a smooth, flat expanse. It's kind of magical. The humble iron is a kind of wand.
Running a hot iron over an article of clothing brings order to chaos. Ironing, like life itself, fights entropy. To my mind, that's a cause for quiet celebration.