Remember how much fun making a gingerbread house was when you were young? The delicate balance of challenging building laws by affixing more candy than structurally possible to the house all the while quickly stuffing your face with icing and sweets the second your mom looked away. I remember one spectacular year my mom attempted a grand gingerbread home complete with detailed wood panelling. About half way into the construction she had already uttered all the swear words I knew, and then some I was happy to discover, only to realize that her measurements were off and that half the panelling was only visible from the inside, while the other less than perfect half would be visible, but backwards.
Why then, did I think I could handle such an endeavour this year?
At first it all went well.
To hell with fancy details.
Make dough.
Chill.
Cut dough.
Bake.
Assemble.
fuck.
Mom: I told you so.
1 comment:
I love his hat!
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