Kiss the chef.

"Honey, it's ok they won't look at you, you can come back down. They even lent me this apron so you can cover." My mom says.

I throw a look outside the treehouse and no one but her is in sight. Yet I don't thrust Ernest not to look, I'll have to hope that he will behave in front of his parents.

I rush down the ladder as fast as I can without falling and grab the apron my mom is holding.

It is a red bbq apron with a fat pig dressed as a chef holding a sausage and a burger. There is writing in bright white on it.

KISS THE CHEF.

One of those joke items people buy and never use.

It is too big for me, the top is open to the middle of my breast. It's very long in the front, covering to my knees; but the back is totally open, I'll have to rely there on the remains of my ripped shirt. On the sides there is a gap left between the apron and the back of the t-shirt running 3 inches wide top to bottom only cut by the apron's flimsy belt.

It is a lot better than nothing but not in anyway ideal.

"See sweetie, everything is alright, I even called a locksmith with their phone. Unfortunately he isn't available until 4 pm." My mom tries to confort me, failling to do so.

"What will we do all day ?" I ask, still looking for a peeping Ernest.