I wanted to wesr an apron for my holiday cooking. The only problem was that I could not find it. I looked all over the house for it, and it was no where. So, I made all my cooking, and ruined about 3 tee shirts from all the spilling I did on it.
my mother wears a pink and green apron when she’s cooking. my dad used to wear an old green apron that he got at King’s but it isn’t here anymore. just the pretty new things we got now that its just us girls
The mother was in the kitchen preparing the daily lunch bags for the children to take to school. She was wearing her beloved apron. The apron was a gift from her mother. It was tattering and wearing a fringe at the edges but the mother would not give it up at all.
My parents wear aprons when they cook but I dont like it because because it looks really weird when you put it on like in cooking class. But its fun because i can tease my sister when she is in it because she looks weird.
Aprons remind me of my great grandma always cooking with hers and how she love to wear it when she cooked…. And there pretty when you design them how you want…
i love aprons they make me happy the smell good and they r a sheer sign of cooking idk why i really love aprons they r cool yay im glad i have an apron im so happy. hahaha im soo glad about aprons i dont know why though. yes, aprons are not cuddley. i have been burned by an apron.
She…tying strings behind her waist with flour dusted hands, I remain still, standing, watching.
Here at her side I learn the art of baking, brushing pastry with a brush dipped in milk. Learn to crimp the edges between finger and thumb. Wait for the waff from an oven door. Warm, tempting.. golden.
Mama wore her apron folded at the waist like a tool belt. She put a spatula in the pockets. It drove Dad crazy.”Why are you even wearing an apron? Your shirt is covered in bacon grease!”
She would look at us and smile. Then she would wink at Dad and say “How else am I going to get you to pay attention to my tits?” Mom was sooo weird.
mother sits at the table with some cloth in her hands. “It was my grandmother’s.” she says, fiddling with the apron strings, a dreamy, sad expression on her face. I wonder why she hasn’t gotten rid of the old thing, but then I take another look at her face, and I know.
Tied to the apron strings …. well today is Little Women’s Christmas in Ireland and the day when men stay at home (traditionally) to do all the chores – cooking etc and the women go out to their local for a pint of Guinness and craic. Get rid of your apron today and have fun!
Apron is generally a sexist word. I mean what is the immediate image that you picture when you hear the word apron? My guess is a woman, a Susie homemaker – a cookie cutter, in a frilly apron cooking and baking for her family. It is the 21st century. I say we do away with sexism. First step? We do away with the apron.
I remember the apron’s my grandma used to wear. She always wore extra pretty one’s on Thanksgiving and Christmas. I still love aprons because of those memories.
I have about 20 apron patterns, but I have yet to sit down and sew one, as I can never find the time.
She had a white apron fastened around her waist. The kitchen was bright as she padded around on the caramel-wooded floors with a mixing bowl. He was coming home tonight. She garnished each pastry carefully.
The middle -aged woman tugged the end of the apron strings, seemlessly loosening them and turned to look up at the noise. And then she saw him: the one man in the world that could make her smile. He w
It was a time of cookouts with the blisters running up and down the greasy palms of pig wrestlers, doning aprons reading kiss my cock and a south texas sauce dripping down the bottom.
She tied on her apron and took a deep breath. This was it. She was willingly going back. Back to the way it had been before. Back to the drama and the laughter that she had always tried to remain on the outskirts of, back to the friends that had dragged her in, had made her feel.
Surprisingly the apron didn’t fit. Maybe she had it on backwards, or upside down but something wasn’t right. What are these straps for. No matter what she tried, the darn thing wouldn’t hide her nakedness.
Put on your apron and grab a broom; it’s time to clean house. Time to let go of the things that held you to the ground. Time to pursue Him. Smile, my dear :)
One can learn much about a man from his possessions. As I entered the disused toolshed this became more and more apparent. A welding mask, hacksaws, files and other such tools lay in organised chaos atop a workbench, but it was the apron that intrigued me most. What I assume was once a blue apron had become dark with what I was reasonably certain was , blood. The only question that remained was “Blood from what.. or whom?”
it’s practically a bib for adults. i think we all need aprons in our lives, so that when we get dirty, we just wipe it off. i think that will make life easier. i think it really will.
One apron lies crumpled on top of the counter. Its checkered front is spattered with the dried remnants of a little girl’s attempt at baking something edible with a real oven.
An apron is what I used to see my Grandmother Westbrook wear when we would visit. She always had it on and would use it to wipe her hands as she cooked. She wore an apron that tied around her waist, not one that covered her entire dress. After many years her apron was stained, but lots of love went into the dishes she prepared for our families.
The apron was smudged with the remnants of the dinner he had made. Mashed potatoes, gravy, raspberries, were all smeared across the fabric, it was like a painter had taken a brush and smeared paint all over his canvas.
Her long apron flowed down to the ground, she tripped over the string as she walked, as she fell her mother ran in a caught her before she hit the ground. “I wuv woo mommy,” she says. And all her mother does is take the apron off.
Aprons are useful. They can be beautiful or they can be plain. I really don’t wear aprons because I don’t own one but I wouldn’t mind wearing them. They’re useful – they keep you from getting stuff on your clothes while cooking or cleaning.
I was 6 when I got my first apron. It was pretty and sported the brightests colors. I loved the apron.. I loved cooking… I loved being happy. I was happy. I was happy in that apron. Now cooking is a chore. And life is a chore.
Worn from years of use, the beige apron was taken out of the old closet with gentle hands, as if afraid that careless handling would cause the article to crumble to dust. It was the only item in the house that still retained the scent of her mum and the homemade meals she used to cook for them.
I wanted to wesr an apron for my holiday cooking. The only problem was that I could not find it. I looked all over the house for it, and it was no where. So, I made all my cooking, and ruined about 3 tee shirts from all the spilling I did on it.
my mother wears a pink and green apron when she’s cooking. my dad used to wear an old green apron that he got at King’s but it isn’t here anymore. just the pretty new things we got now that its just us girls
The mother was in the kitchen preparing the daily lunch bags for the children to take to school. She was wearing her beloved apron. The apron was a gift from her mother. It was tattering and wearing a fringe at the edges but the mother would not give it up at all.
I love aprons!!!! Don’t ask me why??!!!
My parents wear aprons when they cook but I dont like it because because it looks really weird when you put it on like in cooking class. But its fun because i can tease my sister when she is in it because she looks weird.
Aprons remind me of my great grandma always cooking with hers and how she love to wear it when she cooked…. And there pretty when you design them how you want…
i love aprons they make me happy the smell good and they r a sheer sign of cooking idk why i really love aprons they r cool yay im glad i have an apron im so happy. hahaha im soo glad about aprons i dont know why though. yes, aprons are not cuddley. i have been burned by an apron.
She…tying strings behind her waist with flour dusted hands, I remain still, standing, watching.
Here at her side I learn the art of baking, brushing pastry with a brush dipped in milk. Learn to crimp the edges between finger and thumb. Wait for the waff from an oven door. Warm, tempting.. golden.
I like aprons I don’t no why but I do.
My parents wear aprons when they cook but I dont like it because because it looks really weird when you put it on like in cooking class.
My parents wear aprons when they cook but I dont like it because I dont spill im perfect when im cooking i dont make any spills.
Something you rappe around yourself when you cook like bacon how it goes everywhere.
kitchen backery. bread. karaoke with sisters. laughter. smiles. screaming. aprons make me think of words. and words become memories..
Mama wore her apron folded at the waist like a tool belt. She put a spatula in the pockets. It drove Dad crazy.”Why are you even wearing an apron? Your shirt is covered in bacon grease!”
She would look at us and smile. Then she would wink at Dad and say “How else am I going to get you to pay attention to my tits?” Mom was sooo weird.
mother sits at the table with some cloth in her hands. “It was my grandmother’s.” she says, fiddling with the apron strings, a dreamy, sad expression on her face. I wonder why she hasn’t gotten rid of the old thing, but then I take another look at her face, and I know.
Tied to the apron strings …. well today is Little Women’s Christmas in Ireland and the day when men stay at home (traditionally) to do all the chores – cooking etc and the women go out to their local for a pint of Guinness and craic. Get rid of your apron today and have fun!
I love aprons. My mother and grandmother always wear aprons for baking. Especially for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and just family activities.
Apron is generally a sexist word. I mean what is the immediate image that you picture when you hear the word apron? My guess is a woman, a Susie homemaker – a cookie cutter, in a frilly apron cooking and baking for her family. It is the 21st century. I say we do away with sexism. First step? We do away with the apron.
I remember the apron’s my grandma used to wear. She always wore extra pretty one’s on Thanksgiving and Christmas. I still love aprons because of those memories.
I have about 20 apron patterns, but I have yet to sit down and sew one, as I can never find the time.
the surgeon’s bloody pride was in high regard
much like the fronts erected in your name.
birthed by spit and humility projected,
you have wrecked a clean spectacular being
for a cheap spectacle.
She had a white apron fastened around her waist. The kitchen was bright as she padded around on the caramel-wooded floors with a mixing bowl. He was coming home tonight. She garnished each pastry carefully.
The middle -aged woman tugged the end of the apron strings, seemlessly loosening them and turned to look up at the noise. And then she saw him: the one man in the world that could make her smile. He w
It was a time of cookouts with the blisters running up and down the greasy palms of pig wrestlers, doning aprons reading kiss my cock and a south texas sauce dripping down the bottom.
“Put that apron on and make me a samm’ich, Woman!”
She tied on her apron and took a deep breath. This was it. She was willingly going back. Back to the way it had been before. Back to the drama and the laughter that she had always tried to remain on the outskirts of, back to the friends that had dragged her in, had made her feel.
Surprisingly the apron didn’t fit. Maybe she had it on backwards, or upside down but something wasn’t right. What are these straps for. No matter what she tried, the darn thing wouldn’t hide her nakedness.
Put on your apron and grab a broom; it’s time to clean house. Time to let go of the things that held you to the ground. Time to pursue Him. Smile, my dear :)
We sell apron lingerie on our lingerie website…kinky, right?
One can learn much about a man from his possessions. As I entered the disused toolshed this became more and more apparent. A welding mask, hacksaws, files and other such tools lay in organised chaos atop a workbench, but it was the apron that intrigued me most. What I assume was once a blue apron had become dark with what I was reasonably certain was , blood. The only question that remained was “Blood from what.. or whom?”
it’s practically a bib for adults. i think we all need aprons in our lives, so that when we get dirty, we just wipe it off. i think that will make life easier. i think it really will.
It was tied firmly about her waist. her lip was set,and she brandished her spatula confidently. Red Velvet cake, here she comes!
One apron lies crumpled on top of the counter. Its checkered front is spattered with the dried remnants of a little girl’s attempt at baking something edible with a real oven.
An apron is what I used to see my Grandmother Westbrook wear when we would visit. She always had it on and would use it to wipe her hands as she cooked. She wore an apron that tied around her waist, not one that covered her entire dress. After many years her apron was stained, but lots of love went into the dishes she prepared for our families.
The apron was smudged with the remnants of the dinner he had made. Mashed potatoes, gravy, raspberries, were all smeared across the fabric, it was like a painter had taken a brush and smeared paint all over his canvas.
Her long apron flowed down to the ground, she tripped over the string as she walked, as she fell her mother ran in a caught her before she hit the ground. “I wuv woo mommy,” she says. And all her mother does is take the apron off.
Aprons are useful. They can be beautiful or they can be plain. I really don’t wear aprons because I don’t own one but I wouldn’t mind wearing them. They’re useful – they keep you from getting stuff on your clothes while cooking or cleaning.
I was 6 when I got my first apron. It was pretty and sported the brightests colors. I loved the apron.. I loved cooking… I loved being happy. I was happy. I was happy in that apron. Now cooking is a chore. And life is a chore.
Wear this well. Cook a great meal and serve your family. Keep messes away and wipe your hands. Cover up!
The apron she wore reminded him of the one his mother had used to bake him cookies when he was a child.
He relished the memory of the sweet aroma of those oatmeal cookies.
Maybe, he thought to himself, that is why I cannot bring myself to kill her.
Worn from years of use, the beige apron was taken out of the old closet with gentle hands, as if afraid that careless handling would cause the article to crumble to dust. It was the only item in the house that still retained the scent of her mum and the homemade meals she used to cook for them.