to the floor like an apron, a discarded tool a skill gone wasted under the sky there are mites and bugs but fire makes the trees see what climbs to the mmon from there to edge and ground to space from infinity to here where water touches soul in my heart theres a spot where i can see on a dark rainy day its there for me the recipe is there so i protect my self and i wear my apron im ready to be me let me get ready let me make sure its here 45 mins and from there to their to they’re its all under 1 sky but under 7 moons and through 30 doors the die rolls to a stop without a number showing because its all we have to hope for and the cards should all be jokers because otherwise is just cheating so i put on a smile and make my way out the door and under the sun i see many cars and i see many scars but to mee its all beautiful like it was all waiting for me and the morning air burns so great it makes me think that theres nothing but what comes next and theres nothing after or before so i can go as fast as i want and i can never stop because that means i stop and drop to the stones and my
cortlandt
The apron had a dozen stains on it. Each a badge of honor for the housewives of the Midford house. There was the stain from the christmas tourt from the choclate pudding so long ago. The gravy stain from the thanksgiving pot overflowing from the stovetop. Atleast half a dozen burn marks from varing Easter dinner from over the years.. And like a bullet marked shit or a deep scared wound, each one was a badge of honor for the woman of Midford. Scars from the battle of kitchen.
Richard f
I was wearing an apron it was green and purple. It was my favorite and my mother gave it to me before she moved away to live with my aunt. My aunt loved to bake. She made cakes and cookies.
Lisa
He clutched at the apron with grubby fingers, smears and grit plastering the rough surface. Mummy, mummy, mummy… He didn’t stop, his pleas choked the air. It was all she could do to let go.
Haelo
work. long days. sucking up to people. earning good money for doing virtually nothing. doubles. cocktails. being on the grind. earning what you have. smoothies. fried fish.
Chase Weiser
sds
tom
I hate aprons. They’re just so 50’s – in a bad way. They tie women like they’re strings, becomming unraveled and ugly over time, or they sit on a peg, unused and unwanted, like the 50’s women they represent.
magicninja871@yahoo.com
enables
Anonymous
I like to day dream about hot woman from the 60’s wear nothing but an apron while i was drinking scotch and smoking cigarettes. She would be cooking a New York strip.
Austin
My massage therapist wore an apron tied at her waist. It’s pockets held warm aromatic oils that soon glide onto my skin. The apron was an old cotton print of red apples & green leaves on a light tea background. Somehow it reminded me of my Grandmother. Safe, accepting, gentle. Someone I yearned to be, and never quite made the mark. Not a harsh word came from Grandma’s mouth, despite death of infants & living thru America’s depression. The only reliable was kindness. Route out the mental weeds of resentment. To date, I’ve not learned how to do that. So, I copy my therapist. I bought an apron. Not that I cook. I just wear it at home from time to time. And smile. Or weep.
@
She pulled the strings tight and tied them at her back. A traditional red & white gingham apron, just like her grandmother used to wear. Somehow it made her feel better, more confident, more secure. She turned to the stove and began the ritual.
Dannigrrl
The apron was white, checkered with red and white squares, almost like the pattern of dots on her acne-infested face. She laughed at the comparison, not self-conscious, not offended. It was one of those things I loved about her, that she never seemed to be offended.
Piccolo Mirth Sikuta
i am hanging on my mother’s apron strings. i’ll never let go…it’s comfortable. i like it. it is.
joy
Cooking the cake, and walking the oven. It’s a great life when you have the freedom to do as you please. To cook as you please. To walk as you please. Is this the Western way? Aprons to cover the fancy clothes beneath. The dirty over the nice? The clean protected, the dirty flaunted?
David
In the kitchen she stood, an apron wrapped around her as she started the cookies. The ingredients were being stirred up in a bowl, the measurements already finished. She was so quick at it, as if it was a natural thing for her. Maybe it was natural for my mother, like her birthright. I stood with my nose on the table, my hands pulling me up as far as I could so that I could see her. She was stirring, stirring, her arms whisking the ingredients together. I could only think about how much I wanted to be like her.
Maei
My mother wears an apron when she makes lefse, a traditional food from Norway. It is a tradition in our family to make lefse the day before Christmas. Then on Christmas Eve Day we package the lefse and send it to our extended family to let them know we are thinking about them.
Katie
She was wearing an apron. Hauntingly covered in blood, I could smell the scent of her freshest kill. And I could see the lust in her eyes had yet to fade. I guess I should have known from the knife in her hand what she had planned next. I was next.
James Five
The woman looked at her apron. It’s blue lace stimulating her senses–fantasies mostly. Fantasies about her husband coming home after work, putting his arms around her body. But it has been five years since he died. And she can’t help but remember him.
andy
A piece of cloth tied around the front of ones body while cooking in order to prevent clothes stains from the food.
karen
i wear the apron to make brownies.
natalie
The smell of the kitchen fills my nose. Red, black, blue with embroidery and pictures. Old people wear aprons but so dod I. I had a khaki one with my name on it that said “Nana’s Little Helper”. Now that I think about it, I kind of miss it. Madison had one, too. We used to cook with her.
Morgin
something you wear my grandma flower print tying the olden days good food italian familys lasanaga i’m so hungry i can’t wait for the pizza
courtney
kitchen…cooking…women….grilling…mom…baking…flour….kiss the cook….tongs…chef…waitress…waiter
stupid!
angela
I have nothing against femininity in men. In fact, I think all men should have some feminine qualities, for balance. And there’s nothing wrong with the man taking up the household duties every now and then–I’m fine with doing the cooking, you know, when my wife isn’t feeling up to it.
But did she really have to make me wear an apron?
CH
sometimes I would wear an apron when I would bake when I was younger. As I got older I didn’t have one of my own so I never wore one but the one I remember best was one my Mom had that was white with a red sash and red polka dots on it. I never saw her wear it but I remember that I did from time to time. I wonder if she still has it somewhere or not.
miesh
apron
Anonymous
i have worn an apron before, my mother’s it was orange and black like halloween. i always hated her stuffed bell peppers until i was 25. the day comes when you age.
me
I love wearing my apron when I cook. It has very unique designs and is super unique. I’ve always wanted one that looks like I’m wearing a bikini.
kim
little housewife, don’t ruin your dress
your husband will be home soon
ashley
An apron screaming of the autumn harvest hung in the kitchen. It was placed there by a woman of Southern decent, who cooks many a meal within those walls. It is not none whether or not this apron will actually be worn.
Laura
WHITE BLACK FOOD YOU WEAR IT FOR CERAMICS DIRTY MESSY. I HATE BAKERYS. DISH WASHING, GAY. POO THE END
MISTY!
she tied the apron around her waist, perfectly tying the knot behind her without even glancing. she stepped out onto the diner floor, looking at the mess that she had delt with for the last 24 years. a white strand of hair freed itself from her tight bun, and she blew it out of the way, frowning a little.
A-Nod
I grabbed the apron off the counter, sloppily wiping my tears and mucus all over the front.
I didnt care. No one was going to see me.
And then, for the next 6 hours, I baked.
I baked and baked to my hearts content.
and once I was finished, I sat on the floor eating the chocolate chip cookies, and cakes, and baked goods that I had created, because my boyfriend was done with me. My boyfriend, of 6 months, was done with me… and the only thing that was helping my feelings, even slightly, was copious amounts of junk food.
Marissa
One of my really good friends called me today and told me about her night. She had texted me b4, so she called me to give me the story. She said she had gone to a strip club, where not only the stippers stripped, but also where they would serve food naked; some wore only aprons.
Sheed
white, generally. used for cooking, so you don`t get your outfit dirty. it doesnt occur to most people that you can just easily change into a pair of clothes that you dont mind getting dirty.. NO! instead, we abuse the poor apron, day after day, cooking task after cooking task.
marissa.
I put on the apron and step into the kitchen, my heart full of glee as it is the first time I am cooking for him. Oh the excitement! And how nervous I am! They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. The apron makes me look like a little child in the playground. I can do whatever I want, but so very carefully because it is for the one I love. What a lovely feeling.
ac
She donned her apron, preparing to cook a wonderful meal for the guests which would arrive in a few hours. Outside, John butchered a turkey violently, he too wearing an apron to keep his shirt clean from all the blood and guts that
Ben T
Mother tied the apron strings behind her while she walked to the sink. She tested the water with her wrist, it was hot enough.
Michelle
hjgtfsw
Anonymous
the other day i had a craving to cook something so I went online and looked for a recipe for chocolate chip cookies and i found one that was supposed to taste delicious, and so i tried it and then i spilled some egg yolk on my brand new shirt and got so mad at me because i completely forgot to put on my apron! what a silly mistake! so i quickly tied it around my waist and then started to cook.
to the floor like an apron, a discarded tool a skill gone wasted under the sky there are mites and bugs but fire makes the trees see what climbs to the mmon from there to edge and ground to space from infinity to here where water touches soul in my heart theres a spot where i can see on a dark rainy day its there for me the recipe is there so i protect my self and i wear my apron im ready to be me let me get ready let me make sure its here 45 mins and from there to their to they’re its all under 1 sky but under 7 moons and through 30 doors the die rolls to a stop without a number showing because its all we have to hope for and the cards should all be jokers because otherwise is just cheating so i put on a smile and make my way out the door and under the sun i see many cars and i see many scars but to mee its all beautiful like it was all waiting for me and the morning air burns so great it makes me think that theres nothing but what comes next and theres nothing after or before so i can go as fast as i want and i can never stop because that means i stop and drop to the stones and my
The apron had a dozen stains on it. Each a badge of honor for the housewives of the Midford house. There was the stain from the christmas tourt from the choclate pudding so long ago. The gravy stain from the thanksgiving pot overflowing from the stovetop. Atleast half a dozen burn marks from varing Easter dinner from over the years.. And like a bullet marked shit or a deep scared wound, each one was a badge of honor for the woman of Midford. Scars from the battle of kitchen.
I was wearing an apron it was green and purple. It was my favorite and my mother gave it to me before she moved away to live with my aunt. My aunt loved to bake. She made cakes and cookies.
He clutched at the apron with grubby fingers, smears and grit plastering the rough surface. Mummy, mummy, mummy… He didn’t stop, his pleas choked the air. It was all she could do to let go.
work. long days. sucking up to people. earning good money for doing virtually nothing. doubles. cocktails. being on the grind. earning what you have. smoothies. fried fish.
sds
I hate aprons. They’re just so 50’s – in a bad way. They tie women like they’re strings, becomming unraveled and ugly over time, or they sit on a peg, unused and unwanted, like the 50’s women they represent.
enables
I like to day dream about hot woman from the 60’s wear nothing but an apron while i was drinking scotch and smoking cigarettes. She would be cooking a New York strip.
My massage therapist wore an apron tied at her waist. It’s pockets held warm aromatic oils that soon glide onto my skin. The apron was an old cotton print of red apples & green leaves on a light tea background. Somehow it reminded me of my Grandmother. Safe, accepting, gentle. Someone I yearned to be, and never quite made the mark. Not a harsh word came from Grandma’s mouth, despite death of infants & living thru America’s depression. The only reliable was kindness. Route out the mental weeds of resentment. To date, I’ve not learned how to do that. So, I copy my therapist. I bought an apron. Not that I cook. I just wear it at home from time to time. And smile. Or weep.
She pulled the strings tight and tied them at her back. A traditional red & white gingham apron, just like her grandmother used to wear. Somehow it made her feel better, more confident, more secure. She turned to the stove and began the ritual.
The apron was white, checkered with red and white squares, almost like the pattern of dots on her acne-infested face. She laughed at the comparison, not self-conscious, not offended. It was one of those things I loved about her, that she never seemed to be offended.
i am hanging on my mother’s apron strings. i’ll never let go…it’s comfortable. i like it. it is.
Cooking the cake, and walking the oven. It’s a great life when you have the freedom to do as you please. To cook as you please. To walk as you please. Is this the Western way? Aprons to cover the fancy clothes beneath. The dirty over the nice? The clean protected, the dirty flaunted?
In the kitchen she stood, an apron wrapped around her as she started the cookies. The ingredients were being stirred up in a bowl, the measurements already finished. She was so quick at it, as if it was a natural thing for her. Maybe it was natural for my mother, like her birthright. I stood with my nose on the table, my hands pulling me up as far as I could so that I could see her. She was stirring, stirring, her arms whisking the ingredients together. I could only think about how much I wanted to be like her.
My mother wears an apron when she makes lefse, a traditional food from Norway. It is a tradition in our family to make lefse the day before Christmas. Then on Christmas Eve Day we package the lefse and send it to our extended family to let them know we are thinking about them.
She was wearing an apron. Hauntingly covered in blood, I could smell the scent of her freshest kill. And I could see the lust in her eyes had yet to fade. I guess I should have known from the knife in her hand what she had planned next. I was next.
The woman looked at her apron. It’s blue lace stimulating her senses–fantasies mostly. Fantasies about her husband coming home after work, putting his arms around her body. But it has been five years since he died. And she can’t help but remember him.
A piece of cloth tied around the front of ones body while cooking in order to prevent clothes stains from the food.
i wear the apron to make brownies.
The smell of the kitchen fills my nose. Red, black, blue with embroidery and pictures. Old people wear aprons but so dod I. I had a khaki one with my name on it that said “Nana’s Little Helper”. Now that I think about it, I kind of miss it. Madison had one, too. We used to cook with her.
something you wear my grandma flower print tying the olden days good food italian familys lasanaga i’m so hungry i can’t wait for the pizza
kitchen…cooking…women….grilling…mom…baking…flour….kiss the cook….tongs…chef…waitress…waiter
stupid!
I have nothing against femininity in men. In fact, I think all men should have some feminine qualities, for balance. And there’s nothing wrong with the man taking up the household duties every now and then–I’m fine with doing the cooking, you know, when my wife isn’t feeling up to it.
But did she really have to make me wear an apron?
sometimes I would wear an apron when I would bake when I was younger. As I got older I didn’t have one of my own so I never wore one but the one I remember best was one my Mom had that was white with a red sash and red polka dots on it. I never saw her wear it but I remember that I did from time to time. I wonder if she still has it somewhere or not.
apron
i have worn an apron before, my mother’s it was orange and black like halloween. i always hated her stuffed bell peppers until i was 25. the day comes when you age.
I love wearing my apron when I cook. It has very unique designs and is super unique. I’ve always wanted one that looks like I’m wearing a bikini.
little housewife, don’t ruin your dress
your husband will be home soon
An apron screaming of the autumn harvest hung in the kitchen. It was placed there by a woman of Southern decent, who cooks many a meal within those walls. It is not none whether or not this apron will actually be worn.
WHITE BLACK FOOD YOU WEAR IT FOR CERAMICS DIRTY MESSY. I HATE BAKERYS. DISH WASHING, GAY. POO THE END
she tied the apron around her waist, perfectly tying the knot behind her without even glancing. she stepped out onto the diner floor, looking at the mess that she had delt with for the last 24 years. a white strand of hair freed itself from her tight bun, and she blew it out of the way, frowning a little.
I grabbed the apron off the counter, sloppily wiping my tears and mucus all over the front.
I didnt care. No one was going to see me.
And then, for the next 6 hours, I baked.
I baked and baked to my hearts content.
and once I was finished, I sat on the floor eating the chocolate chip cookies, and cakes, and baked goods that I had created, because my boyfriend was done with me. My boyfriend, of 6 months, was done with me… and the only thing that was helping my feelings, even slightly, was copious amounts of junk food.
One of my really good friends called me today and told me about her night. She had texted me b4, so she called me to give me the story. She said she had gone to a strip club, where not only the stippers stripped, but also where they would serve food naked; some wore only aprons.
white, generally. used for cooking, so you don`t get your outfit dirty. it doesnt occur to most people that you can just easily change into a pair of clothes that you dont mind getting dirty.. NO! instead, we abuse the poor apron, day after day, cooking task after cooking task.
I put on the apron and step into the kitchen, my heart full of glee as it is the first time I am cooking for him. Oh the excitement! And how nervous I am! They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. The apron makes me look like a little child in the playground. I can do whatever I want, but so very carefully because it is for the one I love. What a lovely feeling.
She donned her apron, preparing to cook a wonderful meal for the guests which would arrive in a few hours. Outside, John butchered a turkey violently, he too wearing an apron to keep his shirt clean from all the blood and guts that
Mother tied the apron strings behind her while she walked to the sink. She tested the water with her wrist, it was hot enough.
hjgtfsw
the other day i had a craving to cook something so I went online and looked for a recipe for chocolate chip cookies and i found one that was supposed to taste delicious, and so i tried it and then i spilled some egg yolk on my brand new shirt and got so mad at me because i completely forgot to put on my apron! what a silly mistake! so i quickly tied it around my waist and then started to cook.