I’ve been thinking about aprons lately. What they are, what they mean, what they look like and things like that. You may think this denotes the approach of mental enfeeblement on my part, and it could be so – but I’m enjoying it very much thank you!
Women in aprons are one thing, of course. And men in aprons are yet another. Whether we are all the same under the aprons is an idea available for musing upon, naturally.
I’ve been hanging around with a guy in an apron, at least on the pages of a book. Hyacinth of ‘The Princess Casamassima’ has been with me every night recently as my head hits the pillow before falling asleep. At this point, that translates to 447 pages of him – with still a bit to go till the story ends at page 591. Hyacinth wears an apron when he works as a fine bookbinder – and the aprons of his co-workers in the small shabby shop figure in the narrative which is supposedly about a princess but really about a short Englishman who is really a Frenchman in ways. But back to aprons! Here are some to look at:
No aprons for cooking! That surprised me a bit. I think of cooking first, really, when I think of aprons.