Tied to the Apron King

Dad does most of the cooking for himself and mom these days.  Probably because mom has always hated it, as evidenced.  Because he’s like an elephant in a coke bottle, he has lots of aprons.  He’s a wonderful cook, but the process leaves him, his clothing, and the kitchen looking like the inside of a box of smashed condiments.

Over the holidays, mom commented on his aprons. 

“These things are disgusting.  Don’t you ever wash them?” She harassed.

“I don’t like to wash them every time I get something on them.”

“What?” Incredulous.

“If there’s just a little filth, it’s no big deal”

“But they’re covered in crusty food!”

“It’s not that bad.  It doesn’t bother me.”

“But look at these!” She grabbed an apron. “What’s this orange stuff here?  And there’s a giant red stain on the bottom there!  How can you stand it?”

“It’s not that dirty.  I don’t want to wash them every time.  It wears them out faster.”

“Well, you keep telling me you’re going to die in two years.  Surely they’ll last at least that long!”