Here is my apron. I wear this apron because if I don't the manager at the restaurant where I work will say, "where's your apron?" She'll make me put it on or else I won't be able to work. An apron is part of my uniform as is the long sleeved, button down shirt and black pants. I feel as ugly as dirt in my uniform, but I especially dislike wearing this apron. It's stiff and hangs past my knees. I wash it maybe once a month. The rest of the time I just use a cloth from work to wipe it clean.
My grandma had an apron and so did my mom. My grandma's apron was frilly with flowers. My grandma's hooked around her neck and she put it on when she served chicken soup and potato salad in her Chicago kitchen. My mother tied hers around her waist when she made pork chops and mashed potatoes, or chicken and mashed potatoes, or pot roast and mashed potatoes. And I wonder why I don't like mashed potatoes today.
I have never owned an apron. Not one I bought myself, that is. I don't cook. I microwave. No one, not even people who didn't know me all that well, ever thought to buy me an apron. But when you are a waitress you wear aprons. I have worn starchy white aprons, small aprons with three pockets, and mid-length aprons. This apron, worn in the summer in Arizona when it is 110 plus degrees outside, makes me sweat. The long strings get all tangled and the minute I walk out the door from work I untie the knot and set myself free!!
But tonight I will wear this apron. And I will have to wear it every night I keep working as a waitress. I admit it is practical and handy. I use it to store pens and the small pieces of paper where I jot down orders. Still, I wish it wasn't so heavy and long. I don't need any extra weight on me. All of the servers at my job make a swoosh swoosh noise as they walk, the fabric rubbing against the required polyester pants. I don't like the polyester, either, but that's another blog.
Maybe writers should have aprons, too. Only a writer apron would be clever and cute, with writer sayings from my favorite authors like Gail Godwin or Elizabeth Berg. My writer apron would have Velcro to keep it snug on my waist, and I would carry my journal and fancy pens in my apron. Maybe even my mini lap top. I would use my writer apron to jot down my insights and creative thoughts and not words like no horseradish butter on the steak or martini, dry, no olives. My writer apron would make people know I am a writer. Perhaps I will just pretend I am wearing a writer apron all the time and tuck my ideas in my pretend pockets.