A young editor I once met at a party where we made gingerbread houses (Brooklyn is so weird) emailed me the following, when I reminded her of our initial introduction:
(Man, gingerbread houses: I could really go for one of those right about now.)
(Although, you know, what a tragedy they are, ultimately. Right? Like sand castles. Or sand mandalas. Anything made out of sand, basically.)
(And is all of that stuff actually edible?)
(Like, isn’t there glue and stuff, usually? I seem to remember this from childhood. You’d spend all afternoon building a g’bread house and then the teacher-type-person would be all, No, don’t eat it—it’s just for decoration. Which is like, teacher-type-person, have you ever met a child? I mean, seriously.)
(Forget it. Gingerbread houses are clearly the worst.)
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