This past week I started unearthing my winter clothes from beneath the beds. Three plastic bins on rollers, all of which needed to be sorted and washed clean of that musty, cedar-ball, plastic smell. I sorted and washed clothes like a madwoman, winter shirts hanging to dry in every doorway throughout the house. It should have been the picture of domesticity; but as my hair matted to my sweaty forehead and I burned several fingers on our old, rusty iron... I realized I'm no Donna Reed. I'm much more like Rosanne from the beginning of She-Devil. Does anyone else remember this movie? Didn't you just feel so sorry for her while she stumbled around the house in her mumu doing housework? Well, I wasn't far off that as I stifled a few curse words, ran cold water over the ironing-induced blisters on my fingers and simultaneously hitched up my baggy, unattractive jogging pants.
What does any of this have to do with aprons you ask? I started throwing away unworn summer clothes. It's hard for me. But I squinted my eyes shut and tried to hear Tim Gunn speak to me, like a fashion Obi Wan Kenobi, "You haven't worn this in two years, send it to the other side. Let it go. Use the force." So I began to throw anything away I didn't wear this summer. It felt good. But then, I began to eye the dress section of the closet.
I have one sundress I never wear. I love the fabric. Hate the fit. The top is too big, the waist too tight. I've owned it for four years; worn it once. But as I struggled to find some excuse to keep it, a light bulb flashed into the back of my brain.
"I'll make an apron!" I cried, and immediately left my piles of clothes helter-skelter throughout the house and began to cut the back out, saving the scraps to make the tie for the back.
Never fear Anthropologie, your adorable apron monopoly is safe. I cant sew straight to save my life and the ties in the back are uneven lengths But, as I wore it last night, it did its job. That cute little retro print dress/apron shielded my clothes from some vicious squash soup splatters. I'm sure Tim Gunn would click his tongue and say, "Elizabeth," (because he would use my full name, he's very formal that way), "Elizabeth, you should have just parted with the dress." But it's probably safe to say Tim doesn't share my rabid affinity for retro floral print.