Wearing An Apron

Or is it a tail?

In high school, I worked in food service. We were required to wear aprons. It was quite handy to dry your hands, kept your clothes clean, and a multitude of uses. The ones I remember the most were red. They were folded in half with a plastic cord that tied around my waist. Yes, plastic. Not sure why it wasn't fabric, but it most certainly was a plastic cord.

In recent months, while working away in the kitchen, my little buddy often joins me. One day, he tucked a dish towel in the back of his pants. I thought maybe it was a tail and he was pretending to be a dog. In fact, I called him my little doggie and patted him on the head. He must have thought I was dumb. It's nice he didn't tell me that.

When it became a ritual, I figured that it must be his interpretation of an apron. Christina does take him out to eat often. I was certain when he also insisted on wearing a button on his shirt. He has these nice round buttons from Disneyland, that he pins to his shirt. It's his own version of a name tag. I know these things because I know how Ethan thinks and what he is saying through his actions. Grandmas just know these things.

I was working away in the kitchen, but stepped outside for a minute to see what was going on outdoors. Ethan ran after me, carrying an "apron." He tucked it neatly in my back pocket.



Much nicer than the aprons with plastic strings. And maybe my white capris will stay cleaner.