I wear an apron when I bake –
It used to be my mother’s.
I like that old connection, ‘cause
I could be wearing others.
For many years you couldn’t find
An apron anywhere,
Except a plain old white one,
Lacking kitschiness or flair.
When I was younger, housewives had
A kitchen-y collection;
The aprons then were purposeful,
Not objects of affection.
But now in stores, they’re back in stock
In patterns most delightful.
A yearning back to simpler times?
Although that sounds insightful,
I think it’s just a retro thing –
To see the past as cool;
Yet batter-spattered aprons prove
The wearer is no fool!