“Frederick?” He whirled around at the sound of my voice, a wooden spoon with something dripping from it clutched in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. He wore a black apron over his clothes with the words This Guy Rubs His Own Meat in large white Comic Sans lettering. I huffed an involuntary laugh, momentarily forgetting what I’d been about to ask him. “What are you wearing?” He looked down at himself, then back at me. “It’s an apron.”
Lol
