What is an apron? I have heard the word applied in countless ways, including as if it were synonymous with skirt, as in the description of the concrete margin between a pool's edge and that of the lawn surrounding it. Historically, the word itself has been a victim of fraudulent division, and, were it restored to its rightful state, would be pronounced it "a napron" instead of "an apron".
Aprons, as we have known them through the ages, have provided much to our lives: a fringe, an extra layer, a protective coating. Inherent in aprons are responsibility. They shield, they combat, they preserve, defend, hedge, shelter, screen, fortify, secure, guard, insulate. In a sense, they are akin to the doormat, yet more demure, and perhaps more free than their stationery kin, in that they are not tethered by gravity to a singular place.
Many are those who utilize the humble article: the horseshoer, the welder, the chef, the preschool teacher, the butcher, the baker, and if they have survived the present economy, the elusive candlestick maker. Each wearer expects so much and yet so little from their simple garment. This halter, this frockish enclosure, light outer shell, frontispiece, stained with the residue of an honest day's work, this piece of throwaway clothing is so much more than a catch all for wayward dirt.
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