Baking with mom, warm, love, tradition, kids, grandkids, health, fun, happy, memories, smells, best days of my life :-) Want to pass on family cookbook
marie
ran
pan
rap
porn
pro
an
no
on
Gwendolyn McMillan
Kitchen mother cut the strings fly be free you know you want to. Pretty
Embroidery, cross stitch checks green and white red
And white grana’s kitchen burnt cupcakes
Her name was lola, she was a showgirl…
An apron can have many connotations, one of them being sensuous and sultry.
A bit like the famous showgirl, lola.
Travellati
I just love to see a woman in a apron. There is some thing about it that gave me a lift every time she walk out of the Kitchen and into the living room, that turns me on.
victor walkes
She wiped her hands on the apron and proceeded to the living room. The person behind the door was knocking, knocking loudly, and she thought she heard her name behind the solid wood. In the voice she thought she heard, she sensed a desperation, a need to reach her that told her this was no ordinary house call.
Jessica
“One minute left, keep cooking!” I must keep going, I want to win. I have to win. I’ll make mom proud, I’ll make them all fell accomplished from me. If I lose, I go back to being an average student, and a normal daughter. A nobody to my mom.
“Stop cooking!” I remove my apron and look at my masterpiece. Please, impress my mom. And I leave it there to be judged, with my apron next to it, that says in pink glitter: ‘Lawson’s Daughter.’
She tied the strings of her apron in a careful knot. She was waiting for him. A glimpse of his hat, his hair, his face. Looking through the window she noticed how wild the roses had grown. It had been his job to keep them in check.
Ap-CHEE-ma. I say, and they hand me an orange apron with dark red stains splattered all over it. The young women who sit around the table are wearing skirts and furs, little felt flowers and sparkly headbands. They sit with the Apron place daintily over their hundred-plus thousand won outfit, and I feel out of place in my jeans.
She wiped her palms on her apron, now spotted with colourful frosting, then stepped back to admire the flowers she finished on a birthday cake. She lifted the apron off her, balled it up, and went to the restroom to wash her hands.
My grandmother always wore an apron around the house, and when she started teaching me to sew one of the first things she had me make were aprons. We made aprons for my aunts for Christmas — ruffled, frilly, prints and plain colors, each chosen to match the style of the future wearer.
She wore an apron instead of a coat now. Returning from the shops with odd slippers on, negotiating the towers of newspapers that mapped her house, and never noticing the smell.
jayar
Mmmm….baking. Dusty flour prints on table and floor. Visions, smells, sounds of pure undulterated motherhood. Warmth, love, comfort. My apron is pink, of course.
I held the old blue apron in my hands, still dotted with chocolate sauce. I’d never thought to wash it. It would’ve been like washing away a memory.
I could almost feel his lean hands wrapping the apron around my waist, and tying in a bow it at the back. As he had done last year, and every year before that.
And at the same time, I could almost feel my face being splattered with chocolate sauce. As it had last year, and every year before that.
The apron crumpled in my hands.
I miss him.
How can the apron strings be cut when they were never tied in the first place? I have my own children now and love them in an all consuming way. I understand my Mother less as the years go by.
I put on my apron
and walk towards your body
it lies there on a cold marble bed.
and it fascinates me,
if only you could see
i cut and i slice
and tear away at the seams
to find out the cause of death
but really,
its brings joy to me
Don’t wipe that shit on your pants! Use an apron! For crying out loud, are you some sort of barbarian, some ape-child whose parents have yet to discover fire? You need to keep yourself clean if you want to cook for people. Nobody wants to eat your uneducation. Nobody wants to taste your mediocrity.
Elise Portale
My mother never wore an apron. Thinking back on all of those apple-pie moments most people have seen in movies or on Christmas commercials, I realize that my life has be irrevocably different. And then I realize I’m glad for this.
He looked up to see what Maddi had just pulled out of the gift bag. “…an apron?” he asked, forehead wrinkling. “And that one’s from…?”
“Andrew,” she said, scowling as she turned her eyes to the ceiling. “Who else?”
“Ah.”
“‘Ah’ is right,” Maddi growled. “When we get back to the office, I’m going to kill him, Dakota, and nothing you say about how ‘we need his skills, Maddi; I know he’s frustrating but he’s a good agent when you get right down to it’ is going to stop me.”
Abby
I use apron to wash the dishes. I wash the dishes almost every day. I do it after I wake up in the morning. My mom asks me to do that.
The apron was pink, but, secure in his manhood, the color didn’t matter to him. He pulled it on to protect his office clothes from spatters.
He was surprised when the doorbell rang as he wasn’t expecting anyone. Alas, it was his mom and dad.
“See?” said the old man. “What did I tell you?”
“You had to pick the pink one,” said his mom.
Kathleen Gabriel
Flour covered the kitchen counter and Abuelita came hollering in with her hand poised in the “pow pow” position. fun’s over. clean up time was always brutal and i never understood her broken spanish scoldings.
Cindy Mooney
the two year old twins i babysat today wore aprons
to cut plastic fruit in half with a plastic knife
the boy’s apron broke
so he wore it as a skirt
i have no point to this story
except it is interesting what is considered a toy
and what is amusing to little children
and what stereotypes are either furthered or broken
a girl in the apron was baking cookies. a smile drifted across her face slowly. as she wiped the remainder of the cookie batter on her apron after placing the cookies into the oven she went upstairs to get ready for a family get together with her grandmother and the rest of her family
elle
“don’t wipe your dirty hands on your pants!” my mom would say. i would just ignore. but if i just wore an apron all the time, i could wipe my hands on that and it’d be ok, right? lol
Timmy pulled on her apron. “Mommy! Mommy!” he said, “Me wants a cookie!” He looked up from the kitchen’s red onaxe tile floor.
Julia looked down at him in his bonnet and diaper and handed him a fine Cuban cigar and went back to cleaning the dishes.
“Mommy! Mommy!” he said, “Me needs a light!” She pulled out a solid gold Zippo™ lighter, squatted down and lit it for him.
“Mommy! Mommy –”
“Listen, man,” Julia cut him off, “ye’ve got me for the hour, but if we ain’t had sex by the end of the hour, it’s still gonna cost you the thousand bucks. We clear?”
an apron wraps around me
the only thing i wear
as I wait for my master to come home and take it off me
strip me naked and take me down on the floor
lick me to an orgasm and then let me make him come
I like aprons,
they make me feel naughty
Paula
many people like to wear aprons while they are cooking.
jiping
It’s human nature to cover everything. It may not necessarily to be deceitful, but it is not always to keep everything clean. Yes we cover lies, we cover our faces during scary parts of movies, we cover food to keep the flies away. Think of a child. What do they have to cover? And why would they feel the need to hide anything at all? It would be so great to go back to that feeling of security. They haven’t lived enough to understand why we feel the need to keep everything so guarded. So what if the grease splattered onto your clothes? Wouldn’t you rather leave yourself to the world, open and free, than to hide behind a silly piece of fabric? Just as one day, we will all open our eyes and see equality.
and with hands that have held many others, have wiped tears and bottoms, have steadied weak knees and comforted weak souls, have fed children and refreshed hearts, have been pained and painted, have juiced and been jeweled, she pulled the apron tight under her bosom and carried on, just as she always had.
As she pressed her apron against the oven she realized that this wan’t the life that she wanted to live
She wanted to be out travelling, free, untouchable..
She wanted out of that God forsaken house that she was forced to call her home
Raks do you want to work in apron stage for friends. Dear i wanted to do help for my friends while they performed in arts
laxmi
Hanging the apron on the line she noticed the neighbour staring over the fence at her again. She wondered why he kept looking over all the time. That afternoon she collected the apron in but didn’t see the neighbour this time she never saw him agian.
K
Opening the box I had no clue what I would find. But there on the top lay her apron. It still had the stains from when she would bake for us. All I had left of that memory lay in the box. She was gone and her apron remained.
she wears her apron
blue and white checked
her uniform
the symbol of her wife-ly duties
she does what she has to do
wishing sometimes
to be rid of this piece of cloth
and of the responsibilities
it carries
she wishes she were free
There once was a little old lady who sat in her house and wished she had done something with her life. DAy in and day out she wore an apron… then one day something changed. A younge girl knocked on her door and asked for a cup of sugar. Sure enough she was a young baker who was in need of not only sugar but a friend.
Courtney
nice and freshly cleaned, she ran her nimble fingers down the strings that she easily tied around her waist. it was embroidered with the same black stitching throughout, giving her a lovely figure and a hint of mystery he adored…
I tied the strings behind my back and it snapped. That’s when I snapped. It had already been a hard day, and then my apron breaks? Gah. Fine. I won’t use an apron. I’ll cook naked. How about that? No messy clothes to clean.
Brianna L
the aprons I have collected have graced the hips of many grand cooks. I keep thinking the vintage wonder, in swirls of orange, and avocado green will conjure magnificent recipes from within my soul. Nope…. Still makin tacos.
Baking with mom, warm, love, tradition, kids, grandkids, health, fun, happy, memories, smells, best days of my life :-) Want to pass on family cookbook
ran
pan
rap
porn
pro
an
no
on
Kitchen mother cut the strings fly be free you know you want to. Pretty
Embroidery, cross stitch checks green and white red
And white grana’s kitchen burnt cupcakes
Her name was lola, she was a showgirl…
An apron can have many connotations, one of them being sensuous and sultry.
A bit like the famous showgirl, lola.
I just love to see a woman in a apron. There is some thing about it that gave me a lift every time she walk out of the Kitchen and into the living room, that turns me on.
She wiped her hands on the apron and proceeded to the living room. The person behind the door was knocking, knocking loudly, and she thought she heard her name behind the solid wood. In the voice she thought she heard, she sensed a desperation, a need to reach her that told her this was no ordinary house call.
“One minute left, keep cooking!” I must keep going, I want to win. I have to win. I’ll make mom proud, I’ll make them all fell accomplished from me. If I lose, I go back to being an average student, and a normal daughter. A nobody to my mom.
“Stop cooking!” I remove my apron and look at my masterpiece. Please, impress my mom. And I leave it there to be judged, with my apron next to it, that says in pink glitter: ‘Lawson’s Daughter.’
She tied the strings of her apron in a careful knot. She was waiting for him. A glimpse of his hat, his hair, his face. Looking through the window she noticed how wild the roses had grown. It had been his job to keep them in check.
Ap-CHEE-ma. I say, and they hand me an orange apron with dark red stains splattered all over it. The young women who sit around the table are wearing skirts and furs, little felt flowers and sparkly headbands. They sit with the Apron place daintily over their hundred-plus thousand won outfit, and I feel out of place in my jeans.
She wiped her palms on her apron, now spotted with colourful frosting, then stepped back to admire the flowers she finished on a birthday cake. She lifted the apron off her, balled it up, and went to the restroom to wash her hands.
My grandmother always wore an apron around the house, and when she started teaching me to sew one of the first things she had me make were aprons. We made aprons for my aunts for Christmas — ruffled, frilly, prints and plain colors, each chosen to match the style of the future wearer.
She wore an apron instead of a coat now. Returning from the shops with odd slippers on, negotiating the towers of newspapers that mapped her house, and never noticing the smell.
Mmmm….baking. Dusty flour prints on table and floor. Visions, smells, sounds of pure undulterated motherhood. Warmth, love, comfort. My apron is pink, of course.
a cloth worn while working at kitchen
I held the old blue apron in my hands, still dotted with chocolate sauce. I’d never thought to wash it. It would’ve been like washing away a memory.
I could almost feel his lean hands wrapping the apron around my waist, and tying in a bow it at the back. As he had done last year, and every year before that.
And at the same time, I could almost feel my face being splattered with chocolate sauce. As it had last year, and every year before that.
The apron crumpled in my hands.
I miss him.
How can the apron strings be cut when they were never tied in the first place? I have my own children now and love them in an all consuming way. I understand my Mother less as the years go by.
I put on my apron
and walk towards your body
it lies there on a cold marble bed.
and it fascinates me,
if only you could see
i cut and i slice
and tear away at the seams
to find out the cause of death
but really,
its brings joy to me
Don’t wipe that shit on your pants! Use an apron! For crying out loud, are you some sort of barbarian, some ape-child whose parents have yet to discover fire? You need to keep yourself clean if you want to cook for people. Nobody wants to eat your uneducation. Nobody wants to taste your mediocrity.
My mother never wore an apron. Thinking back on all of those apple-pie moments most people have seen in movies or on Christmas commercials, I realize that my life has be irrevocably different. And then I realize I’m glad for this.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He looked up to see what Maddi had just pulled out of the gift bag. “…an apron?” he asked, forehead wrinkling. “And that one’s from…?”
“Andrew,” she said, scowling as she turned her eyes to the ceiling. “Who else?”
“Ah.”
“‘Ah’ is right,” Maddi growled. “When we get back to the office, I’m going to kill him, Dakota, and nothing you say about how ‘we need his skills, Maddi; I know he’s frustrating but he’s a good agent when you get right down to it’ is going to stop me.”
I use apron to wash the dishes. I wash the dishes almost every day. I do it after I wake up in the morning. My mom asks me to do that.
The apron was pink, but, secure in his manhood, the color didn’t matter to him. He pulled it on to protect his office clothes from spatters.
He was surprised when the doorbell rang as he wasn’t expecting anyone. Alas, it was his mom and dad.
“See?” said the old man. “What did I tell you?”
“You had to pick the pink one,” said his mom.
Flour covered the kitchen counter and Abuelita came hollering in with her hand poised in the “pow pow” position. fun’s over. clean up time was always brutal and i never understood her broken spanish scoldings.
the two year old twins i babysat today wore aprons
to cut plastic fruit in half with a plastic knife
the boy’s apron broke
so he wore it as a skirt
i have no point to this story
except it is interesting what is considered a toy
and what is amusing to little children
and what stereotypes are either furthered or broken
a girl in the apron was baking cookies. a smile drifted across her face slowly. as she wiped the remainder of the cookie batter on her apron after placing the cookies into the oven she went upstairs to get ready for a family get together with her grandmother and the rest of her family
“don’t wipe your dirty hands on your pants!” my mom would say. i would just ignore. but if i just wore an apron all the time, i could wipe my hands on that and it’d be ok, right? lol
Timmy pulled on her apron. “Mommy! Mommy!” he said, “Me wants a cookie!” He looked up from the kitchen’s red onaxe tile floor.
Julia looked down at him in his bonnet and diaper and handed him a fine Cuban cigar and went back to cleaning the dishes.
“Mommy! Mommy!” he said, “Me needs a light!” She pulled out a solid gold Zippo™ lighter, squatted down and lit it for him.
“Mommy! Mommy –”
“Listen, man,” Julia cut him off, “ye’ve got me for the hour, but if we ain’t had sex by the end of the hour, it’s still gonna cost you the thousand bucks. We clear?”
an apron wraps around me
the only thing i wear
as I wait for my master to come home and take it off me
strip me naked and take me down on the floor
lick me to an orgasm and then let me make him come
I like aprons,
they make me feel naughty
many people like to wear aprons while they are cooking.
It’s human nature to cover everything. It may not necessarily to be deceitful, but it is not always to keep everything clean. Yes we cover lies, we cover our faces during scary parts of movies, we cover food to keep the flies away. Think of a child. What do they have to cover? And why would they feel the need to hide anything at all? It would be so great to go back to that feeling of security. They haven’t lived enough to understand why we feel the need to keep everything so guarded. So what if the grease splattered onto your clothes? Wouldn’t you rather leave yourself to the world, open and free, than to hide behind a silly piece of fabric? Just as one day, we will all open our eyes and see equality.
and with hands that have held many others, have wiped tears and bottoms, have steadied weak knees and comforted weak souls, have fed children and refreshed hearts, have been pained and painted, have juiced and been jeweled, she pulled the apron tight under her bosom and carried on, just as she always had.
As she pressed her apron against the oven she realized that this wan’t the life that she wanted to live
She wanted to be out travelling, free, untouchable..
She wanted out of that God forsaken house that she was forced to call her home
Raks do you want to work in apron stage for friends. Dear i wanted to do help for my friends while they performed in arts
Hanging the apron on the line she noticed the neighbour staring over the fence at her again. She wondered why he kept looking over all the time. That afternoon she collected the apron in but didn’t see the neighbour this time she never saw him agian.
Opening the box I had no clue what I would find. But there on the top lay her apron. It still had the stains from when she would bake for us. All I had left of that memory lay in the box. She was gone and her apron remained.
she wears her apron
blue and white checked
her uniform
the symbol of her wife-ly duties
she does what she has to do
wishing sometimes
to be rid of this piece of cloth
and of the responsibilities
it carries
she wishes she were free
There once was a little old lady who sat in her house and wished she had done something with her life. DAy in and day out she wore an apron… then one day something changed. A younge girl knocked on her door and asked for a cup of sugar. Sure enough she was a young baker who was in need of not only sugar but a friend.
nice and freshly cleaned, she ran her nimble fingers down the strings that she easily tied around her waist. it was embroidered with the same black stitching throughout, giving her a lovely figure and a hint of mystery he adored…
I tied the strings behind my back and it snapped. That’s when I snapped. It had already been a hard day, and then my apron breaks? Gah. Fine. I won’t use an apron. I’ll cook naked. How about that? No messy clothes to clean.
the aprons I have collected have graced the hips of many grand cooks. I keep thinking the vintage wonder, in swirls of orange, and avocado green will conjure magnificent recipes from within my soul. Nope…. Still makin tacos.