You’ve Heard of the Housing Crisis
Since I was little, I’ve made gingerbread houses with my Grandma. It’s one of our Christmas traditions, and we’ve always done a good job.
Above is my ten-second MS Paint Rendition of the “finished product” of our ginger bread house this year. I put “finished” in quotation marks because the house itself never was officially done.
It all started with a box. It was a thin, heavy cardboard box. It was red with white boxes displaying the directions on putting together a gingerbread house and two pictures of finished products made by people that, as my Grandmother lovingly put it, “have talent.” Included were 6 sections of the house, 5 bags of candy, and a large bag of delicious white icing that I was told to knead for a minute, immediately before being told to “stop that and help me get this table cloth off.”
Perhaps the icing wasn’t properly kneaded, but I blame the fact that the gingerbread house had been sitting in my garage freezer for, more or less, a year. The candy was still good. The gingerbread smelled fantastic. The icing was tasty, white, and bore the consistency of very soft clay, without the “stick to everything” properties that clay usually possesses.
So we start building the house. The front stuck perfectly to the side. It stuck perfectly to the other side. They fit seamlessly into the back. The roof went off without a hitch, and then we started decorating it. ”Put on the wreath already so it doesn’t get ruined.” I add on the solid-sugar wreath with a plentiful amount of icing. It stays. ”Let’s add some doorknobs.” We use gum drops as door knobs on the small cookie doors. ”Wait, the doors are supposed to be white.” We are viewing the side of the box for a basis of our creation. We detach the gumdrop doorknobs, and try our best at smearing the sewer sludge onto the doors, and begin going for the roof.
“Wait, my roof is falling off. Grab the gumdrops.”
I grab as many gumdrops as I can off of the point of the house.
“Grandma, your wall is collapsing.”
“Just get the roof.”
We fix the roof, and the wall continues to fall into itself.
“Grandma, the wall’s stuck. I can’t get my finger in.”
“Maybe we should just throw the whole thing out and try again next year.”
“I can fix it.”
I try wrestling my fingers into the small crack and try to pull the wall back up from its 45 degree angle, to no avail.
“Alright, let’s toss it.”