I am now the proud owner of an apron. It doesn’t say Kiss the Cook, or have a picture of a body with abs, or a picture of bare breasts.
No, this is a Special Apron.
This apron must contain Special Powers for the Chosen One that wears it. At some point after being donned, the Special Apron must bestow centuries worth of knowledge unto the Chosen One, letting them see all the untold secrets of the world and universe. Like the meaning of life or where snails go when it isn’t raining.
Or so I assume.
On Tuesday I made the two hour trip to collect the rest of my dad’s things out of his friend’s storage shed. Apart from now owning about 200 picture frames of all sizes, I also inherited this:
Anything that’s in a black, monogrammed case must be important right? You can’t look at it and not think that something important is being held by it, waiting to be discovered.
Because I’m not the Chosen One, when I opened it there was no chorus of tenors or all-male acapella group. Not even a lone angel with a harp.
This is what I found:
The fanciest apron in the world: The Freemasons Apron, complete with metal tassels and a rosette in a nice baby blue with a plastic backing, in case of accidental beer spills in the crotch.
I don’t know much about Freemasons except that they’re a secret society for men who do secret stuff and meet at a lodge to discuss this secret stuff. I know from a late 1800s Freemason Handbook that Mum has, that they have secret handshakes amongst other things. I tried to find the handbook, but it’s disappeared.
I know that they have a Facebook page, which seems a bit strange considering that they’re supposed to be a Secret Society. Do the Illuminati have an official Facebook page? I’m going to check on that soon.
I also know from experience that the Special Apron can be used quite nicely as a cape – if you don’t mind being choked by getting caught on the edge of the TV cabinet as you rampage through the house shouting: “BEHOLD MY MAGICAL CAPE OF DOOM!”
Capes aside, I also know that as a woman, I probably shouldn’t have this Special Apron. I have stubby hands which I’m sure are manly looking, but that’s as close as I can get.
I decided to email the nearest lodge to me, to see if they would like the Special Apron of Uncertain Powers To The Femininely Un-Challenged.
It was a nice email, very polite and respectful. I resisted the urge to sign off as ‘Bro-Dude Ingrid’ and didn’t helpfully mention that the Special Apron makes a very Nice Cape. I told them that my dad had been a member but he’s dead now because the
Cape Special Apron clearly doesn’t give the wearer immortality, would they like to have it?
Of course, that was only two days ago and they must be very busy with… secret stuff… but I like the mental image of them staring at their computer, faces ashen and gaping, trying to comprehend the horror that has just been unleashed. A WOMAN has their Special Apron! Then of course chaos erupts in their Lodge – once a comfortable, familiar and safe Lodge but now a Lodge filled with fear and hysteria.
“Alfred! A woman has our Special Apron. No woman has ever possessed the mighty Apron before! What do we do?”
“We must hold a meeting with the Grand Poobah, Manfred. It’s the only thing one can do in such a catastrophe. Ring the Bell of Many Manly Chimes to summon our Brothers!”
“Such a bell has only existed in Legend!”
“Then send an email, and CC the Grand Poobah himself.”
“Who is the Grand Poobah?”
“I can’t tell you. It’s a Secret that every Freemason should keep to himself.”
“Do you know who the Grand Poobah is?”
“You don’t know, do you?”
“Then how do we contact him?”
“It’s a secret. Only the one with Righteous Birth Mark of Manliness will know.”
“I have a birthmark shaped like a duck on my right buttock.”
“Is it Righteous?”
“No… I don’t think so. But my wife likes it.”
“That isn’t the same thing Manfred.”
“Alfred! What do we do about this woman who has our Special Apron? Legend has it that she has manly hands.”
“Send it to the Spam folder! Then we can say we never got it. Problem solved.”
“I can’t! The computer is frozen!”
“Delete Manfred, DELETE!”
“IT’S NOT DELETING!”
“Hit it with the Sacred Beer Stein!”
– Silence –
“You broke my computer.”
“Lets go to the shop to get a new one. To the Mason Mobile!”
“You mean Daisy, my Datsun 120Y?”
And with that, the Calamity was averted and I will never hear from the Freemason’s about the Special Apron. I’ll give it a few weeks and then I’ll email them pretending to be a man. My name will be Derek Capehunter.
In the meantime, I have 200 (this may or may not be an exaggeration) picture frames that need a home. I think I might take photos of the Special Apron in various locations around town, frame them and then send them with a ransom note to the Freemasons each week.