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The Infamous Effing Gingerbread House

An Epic Tale of Yuletide Failure

By Jacquie MayhornPublished 3 years ago Updated about a year ago 6 min read
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“So.. my absolute, hands-down ’best-slash-worst’ part of Christmas was my Mom's bright idea to make a gingerbread house.

From scratch.

With a perfectly sculpted lake. And a marshmallow crispy tree. And little wreaths made out of cornflakes. And stain glass windows made out of hard candies... my first fears should have started when she said, "hey, let's make a gingerbread house”… especially when she wanted to make it COMPLETELY from scratch.

Do I look like the Pillsbury frickin Doughboy? I don't go "poo-hoo" when you touch my stomach and I sure as hell don't make no Betty Crocker quality dough.. like what??

We realized our first batch was screwed when we had it cut in perfect little wall-shaped pieces, (yes, I know, that is simply a rectangle.) Well, halfway through baking them they were bubbling up and joining together like some freakish looking conjoined twins that never wanted to be separated in the first place... yeh, so maybe I added baking POWDER instead of baking SODA.. well.. while they were still hot we just recut them into perfect, little wall-shaped pieces, (Yes, again.. simply rectangles.. but it felt like true architecture at the time.) and then let them cool.. into hardened little bubbly things.. I will say one thing for them.. they were like ROCKS.. like if you were trying to build the Egyptian pyramids outta straight ginger-flavored dough THIS dough was what you would use as your base because you know damned well it's gonna stand the tests of time.

So we let these cool.

I attempted making the second batch when mom was at work and I tried cutting the shapes out for the roof, (Once again... simply rectanglar-shaped spiced cookies) Square cookies. THAT simple... like, honestly, before that moment I had literally never, like LITERALLY. NEVER. Uttered the words "Bah Humbug" and truly meant them until I was trying to roll out that floppy, sticky goop that stuck to the pan, and the pin, and my hand, and the wall when I threw it, and the trash bag, and probably eventually the dumpster.. but “bah-to the frickin-humbug” on that.. AND I even used the correct ingredients on this batch..

“APPARENTLY" you have to let the stupid dough chill in the stupid fridge before you stupid cut it. Ain't nobody got time for that.

So I was banned from dough-patrol and mom said she'd do that part. She rolled it out and cut it sooo perfect for the nice rectangles that were going to make up the roof... and wouldn't ya know it?

Throw it in the oven and it bubbles up into one angry, gelatinous glob of Christmas-scented-‘shit’-cookie.. and I reiterate, we ABSOLUTELY followed the ingredients.

So...

Whatever. We cut it while it's hot again.. of course this time since we used the correct ingredients it didn't harden up like ‘the-stone-that-held-Arthur's-sword’ first batch.. Oh no. These little roof tiles stayed pretty pliable; like the first real blizzard in gingerbreadtown was gonna cave that sucker in quicker than Taco Bell coming out your *blank*...

Whatever though. We've made it this far. Let's do this thing.

So...

Just to give you some insights on ‘how perfect’ her OCD demanded this thing to turn out, let me back up for just a second here... When we first bought supplies she wanted to make the frozen pond in front of the house.. so we searched EVERYWHERE in the store for those weird little blue hard candies that you only find at great-grandmother's houses mixed in with the Werthers™️. You know the blue candies I’m talking about... The ones that taste like they've found a way to solidify Listerene™️... anyway.. none to be found. I guess there was a great-grandmother's convention in town or something because I know damnnn well that there was no one else psychotic enough to torture themselves by trying to build a frickin architectural structure out of dough with a perfectly-sculpted colored-candy watering hole.

Nope.

So, not finding said candies, we settle on a ginormous bag of Jolly Ranchers™️. The only big bag they had was the mixed kind with hard and soft ones. Whatever, this bag weighed like 27.3 pounds.. there was bound to be enough blue ones in there to make a little five inch lake, right? Hahaha.. 7 blue hard candies. SEVEN. Out of like a bajillion.. whatever, I was like, "there's a ton of blue soft ones, let's mix them." So we did. We made a lake-shaped mold, (yes, basically a simple circle) out of foil and melted those suckers down.. what did she say when it came out? "The water is too cloudy." Honestly?!?! Seriously?!? It looked like a frozen, effing lake!!!

She literally drove to the store right then to search once again for those little blue hard candies... I can’t make this up.

As she is leaving to go to the store she gives me one simple task.. Make a rice crispy Christmas tree...

Sure. Simple enough. I tried.. I really tried.. what manifested made Charlie Brown's tree look like it belonged in Rockefeller Plaza. We didn't have the right food coloring and apparently "gel coloring" doesn't play well with others, namely marshmallow fluff.. It turned out the most pastel mint-colored green I have EVER seen on the spectrum of colors.. DESPITE the fact that I used the entire tube of food coloring. It had the resemblance of a tree-shaped object until I dared to try to shove the Red Hots in for ornaments…. Annnnd then it dropped over into a sad pile of mush. (Most likely, BECAUSE of the fact that I used the entire tube of food coloring).

Mom, being ever supportive, says, “It's not so bad. It kinda looks like a Christmas tree." ... I turned around and she was standing halfway across the other room with one eye closed and the other squinted, her head tilted like something out of an Exorcist sequel.

Fed up for the night, we gave up and went to bed.

For the next two days, every time I walked through the dining room the rectangle pieces of dough for the roof and walls glared at me.. One time I swear I even heard the tree whisper, "haha, you're my bitch." It got so bad I'd tiptoe around the edge of the room when I had to walk through it. I'd run and hide behind a cabinet. One time mom walked in and found me rocking in the corner singing, "you can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man."

We didn't touch the thing for a few days..

Four days before Christmas we were in Walgreens and mom asked when we were going to finish it.

*nervous laughter* I turned around in line and screamed in a little kid's face, "Santa's not real, you little shit," and ran out of the store and chain-smoked.

So... I make a deal with her. I'll help her finish it. I will sell my soul and finish constructing this shrine to Krampus on the one condition that I get to commit arson on the cursed structure after Christmas. She agrees. We spit in our palms and shake on it, followed by a pinky promise. Deal is sealed.

I find myself in a fitful sleep that night, dreaming of sugar plums and carefully-hung stockings.. but it's ok. I get to have the final revenge. I get to see the sucker fly into the air exploding in a bang of jolly Christmas cheer.

I wake up Christmas Eve and go downstairs... Mom informs me that she, too, is fed up with this haunted, hallowed, hall of evil ginger and picks up our brick-hard walls and our soft, mushy roof, and poof! Into the garbage they go...

My only regret is that I had already ordered a ton of M-80's.. but that's ok.. I'm pretty sure my heart grew two sizes at the sight of those cookies getting dumped in the trash.

Literally. True. Story.”

humanity
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About the Creator

Jacquie Mayhorn

Here is a look inside the life of a professional underachiever w/ a Bachelor’s degree in Procrastination & a PhD in Dilly-Dally.

I’ve been around a few blocks and trust me… the grass is usually greener.

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