Gingerbread Houses: The Opposite of Fun

I retreated back to suburban New Jersey for the holidays, spending some quality time with my family, friends, and little nephew. While the time with my friends was spent under a haze of alcohol and cigarette smoke, my time with my nephew was spent in agonizing torture, in our attempt to build a gingerbread house together.
How many 25 year old college graduates does it take to build a gingerbread house? Well, possibly several, because I sure as hell couldn’t do it. Curse you, Brothers Grimm!

When purchasing a gingerbread house, do not be fooled by the unassuming, seemingly cute box, that promises a merry little home of candy and cookie. It is a box of lies.
Those tasty looking jellybeans on the rooftop? They aren’t jellybeans. They are jawbreakers. I learned this after chomping down on one, nearly chipping a tooth, to which my nephew replied, “that’s what you get for stealing the candy.”

This is the look he gave me while saying that, complete with his hands on his hips. Three year olds these days can be quite cheeky.

Perhaps the worst part about the gingerbread house kit, were the instructions included. Completely misleading and totally off, the directions were positively useless, especially when it came to mixing the icing. Please note the look of utter confusion on both our faces.

See, mixing the icing was very much like mixing cement, and hardened just as fast. The directions called for four tablespoons of water to mix inside this giant bag of powdered sugar, and we ended up dumping at least eight in there. While the icing oozed out of the plastic bag onto the gingerbread cookie walls, it turned to solid rock the minute it hit the air. The icing bag itself was made of incredibly thin plastic, which continued to break and burst, sending globs of gooey white icing all over everything.
My nephew and I both grew progressively angrier, and opted to go play with some toy trains instead.

Behold, the finished product.
… hope everyone had a good holiday!








