the little girl was like a bug as she scuttled forward, standing back and watching as her mother cooked.
she wandered round the kitchen, much like a roach looking for food. her mother paused to peer at her daughter but said nothing and continued cooking, unknowing of her daughters objective. the girl was waiting for her apron. her darling apron.
the daughter had dirtied it the day before, with flour in her chocolate hair and the color of pink poppies on her cheeks. now, the waited for it to finish cleaning as today was sunday; the official cleaning day in their household.
the girls manners seemed impatient. a shuffle of her feet. a glance toward the laundry room. perhaps another good lean forward to see what food her mother was cutting.
the smell of soup eventually filled the void air. it was warm and filled the room with a reverberate of warm energy; filling the silence whole.
it startled the daughter and mother when a loud ding was heard. the girl smiled and ran to the laundry room to grab, leaving her mother in a cloud of imaginary dust.
the girl pushed the door open and the first thing she saw was a basket beside the dryer. she walked across the room to the left, where the washing machine and dryer stood ready. it was almost as if they were waiting for her, greeting her with the smell of detergent soap and dirty socks.
she opened the white washing machine and shoveled the clothes into the basket, a small frown set on her face. where was her precious apron? she raised her head out of the dryer and spun herself to find her apron.
there it was! hanging behind the door on the silver hooks that hung against the white door. she grinned and walked to the door, successfully unhooking her apron from the hook.
it was an old little thing, something that was used and tattered but stitched up each time. she vaguely remembered the last time she had tore it. her mother had stitched it while she sniffled, her cries fading to joy when it was back in one piece.
the apron wasn’t a full one. it wrapped around her hips and tied behind her with a well knitted knot. the string and stitching was brown and the pattern was a creamy yellow color, like vanilla bean ice cream. there was a lovely sunflower pattern on it; now faded by time.
she loved this apron with all her heart. it was the greatest gift given to her on a christmas day by a friend she valued dearly. she visited her friend during winter and spring breaks and spent time over in ohio with them in the summer.
though the girl missed them dearly, she could still see their smile when she tried on the apron for the first time.
realizing that she was wasting cooking time, the girl left the room with her apron in her hand.
Grease stains criss crossed my apron like i’ll defined grill marks. Sweat poured from my brow in the sweltering summer time kitchen. It took suite a lot of effort to not have it drip in the frialator, where they would sputter and cause small spittles of grease to burn my fore arms. This is not the situation i thought i’d be in when I received the opportunity of a lifetime.
She was bathed in baking powder and sugar, like an angel’s shroud. Her apron, burned on one edge and smelling of lemons and cinnamon, makes up the wallpaper of my best memories.
Alice Vermillion
okay hold on i already got this one. can i get another prompt?
Sydney Bedgood
She wore her apron crooked, like her smile. Teeth crooked, eyes a little off center, one shoulder higher than the other. Her sense of humor was a little crooked too, but so was everything else.
The kids loved her. they called her ‘Crooked Aunt Casey’, and brought her gifts of mud pies and dead bugs. She treasured each one and shelved them in jars and boxes, and gave back real pies and little paintings of the bugs.
Sydney Bedgood
An apron is a piece of cloth or clothing people wear when they are cooking or doing something messy, to keep from getting their clothes dirty. The servant always wears an apron, I never understood why. She doesn’t just wear it when she is cooking but also when she is cleaning. I wish I had a servant, if I did, I would definitely ask her that!
The lady at the restaurant wore a yellow and red apron. It had bright flowers on it and all the customers really liked it. This was her favorite apron of all of them that she had to wear.
hatfield
“Where is my Apron!” “Honey, I said where is my apron?!” “Its in the closet dear.” “Oh, Thank you very much.” He replied
TessaAnn
I love the evenings when we cook together. In our kitchen with our aprons on. Music in the background while we dance around the kitchen. Over cooking or under seasoning, all the while getting lost in our time together.
“Argh! Not apron again!” she thought as the word appeared on the screen.
She was trying to write a novel, but this thing, this one thing was a distraction and then it was better for a while, but then the apron came again.
It was a simple apron, but still, it brought so much complexity into the picture.
Spots
Her apron was dirty. Not from all the work she was doing. It was dirty from the blood and sweat from others who did the work for her and then begged at her heels for food or mercy. Why was she even wearing an apron? To show them that she was one of them.
aprons are used in the kitchen to keep the cooks clothes clean. Sometimes they are funny and sometimes they are sentimental. sometimes they will have pockets, which is very useful to store tools used while cooking.
John
I untied my apron from behind me, strinGING IT up onto THE HOOK ON the wall. i movED OVER TO THE SINK, WASHING off all of the floUR AND COOKING Spray> and other things OF UNMENTIONABLe HORRoR. I SAID GoodNIgHT TO mY mAnaGER, MARGAR`E`T,` `AND` `K`NE`W THA`T I` C`OULDN`’T EVer rETurn tO this job.
yO-8O1Z-42
The chef wore an apron to work as he thought, “What will I make today” and the apron thought “What will he spill on me?”
Samantha
an apron is a tool we use in the kitchen to keep messy food off of us when we are cooking. without an apron we would be very messy people. messes are gross. no on likes messes. therefore people should use apron.
Hannah
protect from fooooood and dirt while cooooooooking yeah.
also protect the front of you from blood yay.
HERES JOHNY
tim
The red hue was impossible to miss, all grouped together in the chaos if the ktichen. It was a fishbowl; the flashes of red, white, and the overwhelming aroma of burgers and fries. That’s right, you’re at In-N-Out Burger. The only place you can go to see the flashes of red aprons tagged with over sized apron pins amidst the craze over animal fries.
Sierra
He looks up silently at his friend, stilling his struggle.
“Need help?”
He nods and his friend readily comes to his aid, tying the apron for him.
He moves wordlessly to the simmering pan.
The friend smiles brightly, “Mackerel again today?”
He shakes his head, “Salmen.”
What will shield me from this treachery but my own will? “Be responsible for your boundaries,” he said. And so with reluctant hands I will shield myself from the sun of him.
Aprons are an article of clothing worn over other clothes to keep from getting stained.
Josiah
I think we used to have aprons. Like my dad used to have a apron with peppers on it. I forget how the others looked. I think they were just plain colors XD
But like…I don’t know. I don’t know if we have anymore…
Imani
I love my apron! I have a Dia de los Muertos apron with little fringe along the sides. However, i find myself more consistently reaching for the dish towel over the shoulder. I aspire to one image, while enacting another.
Lauren
Mom always wore an apron in the kitchen. She cooked every day. I miss aprons. I have a few but am going to sew more comprehensive ones. I need big ones. I cook a lot at once and love making food. I haven’t been able to much lately because I broke my leg over the summer. But a nice clean fresh apron is an indication of possibility. A sign of a comfortable home. An invitation to coziness. An implication that all are welcome. How something so utilitarian can carry so much meaning.
The kitchen was bustling with the various sounds of appliances and tools. The delicate metallic scratching of a whisk striking a metal bowl repeatedly harmonized with the warm sound of the gas stove and the bubbling of the water-filled pot on the back burner.
“Where are the chocolate chips?” she shouted over the ruckus. Her red-and-white plaid apron was immaculate; not a single stain was present.
Another head poked out from behind the open pantry door.
“Not here,” Laszlo called back.
With a sigh she set down the bowl and turned towards the cabinets, rummaging through each while muttering to herself.
“Has your father got the grill going yet?”
At that moment the back door opened, releasing wisps of black, pluming smoke. A rapidly blinking father stood in the doorway with an awkward grin.
“Help?”
You use an apron while cooking so you don’t dirty your clothes. Gurj bought me one from Anthropologie as a gift. It was fashionable and cute – not matronly like many I had seen. But on some level, this gift was also a hint – that I needed to cook. For me, that was a skill that would have to be learnt.
I wear an apron when i bake stuff like cake or cookies even dinner/supper how ever you say it most people don’t wear aprons now a days because there lazy and just order pizza.
Abigail Smith
She tied the knot in the back tighter and blew her hair out her face. “Okay. 375.” She flipped the knob on the oven and aligned the lines, looking back down at the cookbook. “For… 45 minutes?” Well, this was a disaster.
the little girl was like a bug as she scuttled forward, standing back and watching as her mother cooked.
she wandered round the kitchen, much like a roach looking for food. her mother paused to peer at her daughter but said nothing and continued cooking, unknowing of her daughters objective. the girl was waiting for her apron. her darling apron.
the daughter had dirtied it the day before, with flour in her chocolate hair and the color of pink poppies on her cheeks. now, the waited for it to finish cleaning as today was sunday; the official cleaning day in their household.
the girls manners seemed impatient. a shuffle of her feet. a glance toward the laundry room. perhaps another good lean forward to see what food her mother was cutting.
the smell of soup eventually filled the void air. it was warm and filled the room with a reverberate of warm energy; filling the silence whole.
it startled the daughter and mother when a loud ding was heard. the girl smiled and ran to the laundry room to grab, leaving her mother in a cloud of imaginary dust.
the girl pushed the door open and the first thing she saw was a basket beside the dryer. she walked across the room to the left, where the washing machine and dryer stood ready. it was almost as if they were waiting for her, greeting her with the smell of detergent soap and dirty socks.
she opened the white washing machine and shoveled the clothes into the basket, a small frown set on her face. where was her precious apron? she raised her head out of the dryer and spun herself to find her apron.
there it was! hanging behind the door on the silver hooks that hung against the white door. she grinned and walked to the door, successfully unhooking her apron from the hook.
it was an old little thing, something that was used and tattered but stitched up each time. she vaguely remembered the last time she had tore it. her mother had stitched it while she sniffled, her cries fading to joy when it was back in one piece.
the apron wasn’t a full one. it wrapped around her hips and tied behind her with a well knitted knot. the string and stitching was brown and the pattern was a creamy yellow color, like vanilla bean ice cream. there was a lovely sunflower pattern on it; now faded by time.
she loved this apron with all her heart. it was the greatest gift given to her on a christmas day by a friend she valued dearly. she visited her friend during winter and spring breaks and spent time over in ohio with them in the summer.
though the girl missed them dearly, she could still see their smile when she tried on the apron for the first time.
realizing that she was wasting cooking time, the girl left the room with her apron in her hand.
oh, how she loved her precious apron.
Grease stains criss crossed my apron like i’ll defined grill marks. Sweat poured from my brow in the sweltering summer time kitchen. It took suite a lot of effort to not have it drip in the frialator, where they would sputter and cause small spittles of grease to burn my fore arms. This is not the situation i thought i’d be in when I received the opportunity of a lifetime.
She was bathed in baking powder and sugar, like an angel’s shroud. Her apron, burned on one edge and smelling of lemons and cinnamon, makes up the wallpaper of my best memories.
okay hold on i already got this one. can i get another prompt?
She wore her apron crooked, like her smile. Teeth crooked, eyes a little off center, one shoulder higher than the other. Her sense of humor was a little crooked too, but so was everything else.
The kids loved her. they called her ‘Crooked Aunt Casey’, and brought her gifts of mud pies and dead bugs. She treasured each one and shelved them in jars and boxes, and gave back real pies and little paintings of the bugs.
An apron is a piece of cloth or clothing people wear when they are cooking or doing something messy, to keep from getting their clothes dirty. The servant always wears an apron, I never understood why. She doesn’t just wear it when she is cooking but also when she is cleaning. I wish I had a servant, if I did, I would definitely ask her that!
The lady at the restaurant wore a yellow and red apron. It had bright flowers on it and all the customers really liked it. This was her favorite apron of all of them that she had to wear.
“Where is my Apron!” “Honey, I said where is my apron?!” “Its in the closet dear.” “Oh, Thank you very much.” He replied
I love the evenings when we cook together. In our kitchen with our aprons on. Music in the background while we dance around the kitchen. Over cooking or under seasoning, all the while getting lost in our time together.
“Argh! Not apron again!” she thought as the word appeared on the screen.
She was trying to write a novel, but this thing, this one thing was a distraction and then it was better for a while, but then the apron came again.
It was a simple apron, but still, it brought so much complexity into the picture.
Her apron was dirty. Not from all the work she was doing. It was dirty from the blood and sweat from others who did the work for her and then begged at her heels for food or mercy. Why was she even wearing an apron? To show them that she was one of them.
My mom has a really funny apron.
aprons are used in the kitchen to keep the cooks clothes clean. Sometimes they are funny and sometimes they are sentimental. sometimes they will have pockets, which is very useful to store tools used while cooking.
I untied my apron from behind me, strinGING IT up onto THE HOOK ON the wall. i movED OVER TO THE SINK, WASHING off all of the floUR AND COOKING Spray> and other things OF UNMENTIONABLe HORRoR. I SAID GoodNIgHT TO mY mAnaGER, MARGAR`E`T,` `AND` `K`NE`W THA`T I` C`OULDN`’T EVer rETurn tO this job.
The chef wore an apron to work as he thought, “What will I make today” and the apron thought “What will he spill on me?”
an apron is a tool we use in the kitchen to keep messy food off of us when we are cooking. without an apron we would be very messy people. messes are gross. no on likes messes. therefore people should use apron.
protect from fooooood and dirt while cooooooooking yeah.
also protect the front of you from blood yay.
HERES JOHNY
The red hue was impossible to miss, all grouped together in the chaos if the ktichen. It was a fishbowl; the flashes of red, white, and the overwhelming aroma of burgers and fries. That’s right, you’re at In-N-Out Burger. The only place you can go to see the flashes of red aprons tagged with over sized apron pins amidst the craze over animal fries.
He looks up silently at his friend, stilling his struggle.
“Need help?”
He nods and his friend readily comes to his aid, tying the apron for him.
He moves wordlessly to the simmering pan.
The friend smiles brightly, “Mackerel again today?”
He shakes his head, “Salmen.”
The black apron was ti d tight around his waist as he cooked the chicken on the grill.
“Hey, what’re you making?”asks his brother, Alex.
“Chicken” Jax replies.
“Awesome, Aunt Sharon justgot here with the Coleslaw.”Alex says.
What will shield me from this treachery but my own will? “Be responsible for your boundaries,” he said. And so with reluctant hands I will shield myself from the sun of him.
Aprons are an article of clothing worn over other clothes to keep from getting stained.
I think we used to have aprons. Like my dad used to have a apron with peppers on it. I forget how the others looked. I think they were just plain colors XD
But like…I don’t know. I don’t know if we have anymore…
I love my apron! I have a Dia de los Muertos apron with little fringe along the sides. However, i find myself more consistently reaching for the dish towel over the shoulder. I aspire to one image, while enacting another.
Mom always wore an apron in the kitchen. She cooked every day. I miss aprons. I have a few but am going to sew more comprehensive ones. I need big ones. I cook a lot at once and love making food. I haven’t been able to much lately because I broke my leg over the summer. But a nice clean fresh apron is an indication of possibility. A sign of a comfortable home. An invitation to coziness. An implication that all are welcome. How something so utilitarian can carry so much meaning.
The kitchen was bustling with the various sounds of appliances and tools. The delicate metallic scratching of a whisk striking a metal bowl repeatedly harmonized with the warm sound of the gas stove and the bubbling of the water-filled pot on the back burner.
“Where are the chocolate chips?” she shouted over the ruckus. Her red-and-white plaid apron was immaculate; not a single stain was present.
Another head poked out from behind the open pantry door.
“Not here,” Laszlo called back.
With a sigh she set down the bowl and turned towards the cabinets, rummaging through each while muttering to herself.
“Has your father got the grill going yet?”
At that moment the back door opened, releasing wisps of black, pluming smoke. A rapidly blinking father stood in the doorway with an awkward grin.
“Help?”
You use an apron while cooking so you don’t dirty your clothes. Gurj bought me one from Anthropologie as a gift. It was fashionable and cute – not matronly like many I had seen. But on some level, this gift was also a hint – that I needed to cook. For me, that was a skill that would have to be learnt.
I wear an apron when i bake stuff like cake or cookies even dinner/supper how ever you say it most people don’t wear aprons now a days because there lazy and just order pizza.
She tied the knot in the back tighter and blew her hair out her face. “Okay. 375.” She flipped the knob on the oven and aligned the lines, looking back down at the cookbook. “For… 45 minutes?” Well, this was a disaster.