I’m not terribly domestic. I don’t mind my house being messy (until the kids are in bed and I can actually sit in one place long enough to notice the sty), hate doing laundry, and loathe cooking. Well, that’s not exactly true.
I hate having company over when my house is doing its most impressive toxic waste dump impression; and since we have people over every week at a minimum (my family is over every other week for Family Dinner night, and my girlfriends come over on the off weeks to play cards), the house gets what my Mother colorfully refers to as “a lick and a promise†type cleaning done with some regularity. I’ve always wondered exactly what is being licked and/or promised and by and to whom this is being done when this de-griming is occurring, but I don’t think I want to know the answer.
Lately, however, I’ve been feeling oddly housewifely, which has naturally made me ponder the age old question, “WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH ME???†I have been actually enjoying my ancient nemesis The Skillet, and courting my primal foe, The Oven. Artisan bread, a whole stack of newly acquired (and disturbingly tasty) dinner recipes, and home baked breakfasts ~ what is this newfangled obsession? Maybe I’m the subject of some bizarre government experiment in which masked men sneak into my house at night and inject me with genetic material appropriated from Betty Crocker. No, that can’t be right. I’ve decided instead to blame my apron. Well, aprons plural.
You see, I’ve never been an apron person. They’re frumpy and tacky, and a woman who has five children constantly spitting and spilling on her all day (among other things) needs no help in feeling tacky or frumpy (the woman in question may or may not be me). Wearing stylish clothes (well, sort of) with drool on them is infinitely better than covering my only moderately dorky clothes with a blob of faded fabric that would make Vanna White look like she was wearing a very badly tailored potato sack (I can’t think of anyone more recent than Vanna White?? Oh neural synapses, how I miss thee… Also, I think there must be a large market out there for tailored potato sacks. Someone should look into that.).
A couple of years ago I was off procrastinating doing something constructive (probably cooking) by bobbing along on the internet, and I came across a site selling aprons produced by some lady named Jessie Steele, who I’d never heard of. Apparently Oprah’s heard of her, but lacking that oh so important direct link into The Oprah Brain, I was happily swilling around in apron ignorance… until that black day.
Not frumpy, in no way reminiscent of a misfiled potato sack, this apron was fantastic! Stylish, flirty (always important in an apron because ovens get very temperamental if you aren’t cheeky with them occasionally), and earning the Mary Poppins seal of approval by being practically perfect in every way, I had to have one. Well, if it hadn’t cost $40, I would have had to have one. Since it did, in fact, cost $40, I simply saved the link so I could return to the site and drool at it whenever I desired while my apron dream languished as a sadly overlooked item for two years on my Christmas and birthday lists.
Then in November my Mother and I were discussing Christmas shopping and what to get for my sister-in-law. Mom said that my SIL had some crazy $40 apron made by Jackie Steele or somebody or other on her list, and what could possibly make an apron worth that much anyway? The exploding psycho look on my face may have been an indicator to her that I had in fact heard of these aprons and had formed an opinion on them.
Around that same time, I had poked around Amazon and made one of those cool Wish Lists you can make on their site and then email to all your family members who keep asking you every other day what you want for Christmas. Since I couldn’t find the Jessie Steele apron I wanted, I substituted another funky apron that I didn’t think I’d get either. Well, it turned out that I got both aprons for Christmas, one from my SIL and one from my Mother-in-law. Hurray!
And so my apron days began. Slowly they bled one into the next with my aprons stuffed silently in a drawer. I’d put them on when I remembered and I always felt great wearing one, but after dinner back they would go into their dark abode to be forgotten for another week or so. Then in February my friend Amy booted Handsome Hubby and I out of the house for a couple of days and made us go away to the beach so she could come and play with my little goofballs for the weekend (what a friend!). When we came back, my dusty aprons had been relocated to the mysteriously placed hook next to my fridge.
Every day there they were beckoning to me in there Lorelei voices, “Put me on. You too can be a stylish member of the post-1950’s, retro sorority.†Well, when an apron starts demanding things, you ignore her at your own peril! And so on my aprons went (not together of course; that would undoubtedly cause a squabble).
At first I started wearing them only while I was making dinner. Then, since I seem to be congenitally incapable of cleaning without splashing something on myself, it occurred to me that the women in those old ’50’s vacuum cleaner ads wore aprons while they cleaned. They also wore dresses and high heels, but I refuse to do that. Well, at least until I can find sexy pumps (preferably red) that both feel like tennis shoes and that I can carry around small children or go down stairs in without breaking my ankle. Once that occurs I probably won’t even take them off to sleep in, much less vacuum in! Showering may be negotiable. Now if they’re waterproof as well…. Ahem, aprons. We were talking about aprons.
Anyway, I found myself wearing my lovely aprons an increasing amount of the time. I’d start actually prepping dinners in the afternoon instead of waiting until 5:00 just so I could wear my apron. Also around that time, my sweet Hubby found that scrumptious Artisan Bread recipe from a couple months ago, and I began making the dough for that in the evening so it could proof overnight. More reasons to wear my apron!
Now my aprons spend most of their days protecting me from the dirty dishwater I drip all over myself, shielding me from the horrors of poofing flour when I fiddle with my bread, and defending me from the formula that my daughter dribbles down my shirt when we’re snuggling on the couch for her breakfast (in their off hours, my aprons moonlight for the Portland Police Force). The other day Faith was toddling around in that haphazard, slightly tipsy looking way that newly walking babies do. She started wobbling badly as she walked past me, so she reached out and grabbed the first thing she could reach: my apron string. And here I now am, domesticated by small pieces of black and purple fabric, my aprons.
Rachel
P.S. Here’s some pictures of the two aprons I have in case you’re wondering what kind of aprons could possibly be worth $40 and turn a woman into a blubbering housewife who claims to like cooking after eleven years of culinary strife. Recently, my brother-in-law skeptically asked me if I really thought my aprons were worth all that money. I have pondered this often since then (at the time, I casually answered in the affirmative); and upon further reflection, my answer is an unequivocal “yes.â€
My aprons are kind of like a uniform or a costume for a play. Once one goes on, I all of a sudden become SuperMom. Then when I take it back off, I am back to my mild-mannered persona and read a book (well, maybe “mild†is a stretch…).
Jessie Steele apron: Currently selling online in a bunch of places as well as on eBay for much better prices. This seller has them for $27 or so, which is a great deal (Jessie Steele has several other styles too, and all are fabulous so be sure to check out the other ones):
Funky Dots Apron from Amazon: Funky Dots Apron
 
No, neither of the women modeling the aprons is me. They’re, well, models. 
