I love aprons because I always decide to make homemade pizza on a day when I’m wearing black. Halloween or Easter candy opens silently in an apron pocket. I love aprons because worn over a denim jumper and stained t-shirt I can still pull off a ‘put together’ June Cleaver look if I brush my hair and tie the waist of the apron tight. Aprons scream “I’ve got a handle on this domestic diva thing!” even if the cookies, or pizza, come out burnt. An apron is a craft I can make and not feel bad about soiling. And if I remember half way through crafting one that I hate sewing, it’s a simple enough project for my daughter to finish. (Guess what grandma’s getting for Christmas?) I love aprons because funny sayings look good on an apron but you don’t need to worry about being committed to that saying all day and accidentally offending someone; “Don’t touch the buns!” or “Hot stuff coming through!” are two of my favorites. The UPS man and pizza boy will call you Ma’am and tip their hats when you wear an apron. (Unless you are wearing the one about the “…buns.”) If you get caught chasing your kids down the street with a rolling pin in hand while you’re wearing an apron, it looks better than when the same thing happens and you’re not. Just try saying “But officer, those ragamuffins were getting into my pie safe!” without an apron. Aprons have so many uses besides the ones I’ve mentioned, hankie, dishtowel, pot holder and hiding spot for an exceptionally clingy toddler, that it’s a wonder they ever went out of fashion. If you want to upset a feminist, next time you’re pregnant, gather all your kids in the kitchen, put on an apron, take off your shoes and take a smiling picture. (Rejected ’05 Christmas card photo.) My husband finds me extra attractive in my apron, even when I’m not holding a homemade apple pie, cinching the waist or barefoot. Flattering, functional and fun, aprons are something I love.
Random thoughts on something I love: Aprons