Almost a decade ago Mum made a gingerbread house that knock all of our socks off. Since then she's never been able to replicate it on account of the actual build being so fiddle some. She lulled herself into a false sense of security after that first win, so I was desperate to take up the mantle and attempt my own Gingerbread house.
Turns out, it's defeated another Durrant.
I spent almost 6 hours in the kitchen baking, measuring, icing and praying that things would all come together... Only for the pieces to slide around, look utterly dreadful and generally fall to pieces. God it was miserable. You know in the The Sims when a character's need bar get into the red zone and they just start screaming at the universe? That was me internally because the task was Sisyphean. I lost all hope and motivation, especially after I remembered that I don't even like gingerbread. I added a touch of clove to the mix and that was all I could small for the next half dozen hours, just thinking about it gives me a headache now. I was left with a structure like Tintern Abby and a lot of biscuits as broken as my spirit.
Thank goodness for Rebecca who swaddled me up with all the good grace I needed in that moment. The Sunday was salvaged by her optimism alone and for that I am eternally grateful.
No comments:
Post a Comment