After a Saturday that did not go according to plan, J and I met up yesterday to make gingerbread houses for my company’s annual fundraising gala. At this event, professionals, amateurs and children all make gingerbread houses that are subsequently auctioned off to the gala attendees. I try to participate when I can, because this is way more fun than the endless bad stuff I deal with at work on a daily basis.
One little gingerbread house SEEMED like an innocent enough project…
Two hours later, my kitchen looked like an icing bomb went off, I required two Scooby-Doo band aids on my left hand, and J and I finally admitted defeat. The above house was the best we could come up with, and that is after a grueling effort on our part, and a copious amount of swear words. We were at this so long, my husband actually managed to teach our child to ride a bike without training wheels, clean out the garage, pack for a trip and heckle whenever possible.
I think it’s safe to say that J and I will not be pursuing careers as gingerbread house decorators.