Dressed for the role

1 minute read

I have a grill apron. One of those with a funny saying on it. "Licensed to Grill."

I put it on before the barbecue cookout and I immediately felt like I knew what I was doing. I had the apron. I was dressed for the role. I was the guy.

I was not the guy.

I burned the burgers.

Then I cranked the heat, because I thought that would help. It did not. My friend walked over, looked at the apron, looked at the grill, saw the burnt patties and looked back at me.

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to either. We both knew.

The apron didn't give me any instinct for how much heat the meat needed. It didn't teach me when to flip the patty and when to leave it alone. It didn't stop me from serving the burnt burger that was charred on the outside and raw in the middle.

It was just an apron.

The label is never the thing itself.

I guess what I'm trying to say is you can't just slap role=button on a span and call it a button.

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