Yesterday, a guy referred to me as “gingerbread”. Gingerbread?! Gingerbread?! I was like “Yo Mama is gingerbread!”
You might be thinking, “But wait Gotc! Gingerbread is delicious and yummy- that’s a compliment!” But it wasn’t. It. Was. Not. He meant it as an insult to me- like I’m young and inexperienced and a goody-two-shoes. And he also said it in a really negative way, so it was obvious what was up. And I was angry. Real angry. I mean, if I’m any type of dessert, I’m obviously alcohol drenched lady fingers (also known as tiramisu), or like rum cake, or at the very least, a white chocolate macadamia nut cookie. He better recognize! I’m crazy and adventurous and totally unpredictable. I’m a wild child. He doesn’t know me- he does not even know me!
And you know something else? Gingerbread is actually full of spices and is the most popular human shaped cookie in the world. It deserves a lot more respect than he was giving it. Him, with his tone of derision and condescension and other nasty sounding words that end in -sion. I mean, what type of dessert does he think he is? Answer- he doesn’t even deserve to be a dessert.
I’m pretty sure I’m going to cover his car in gingerbread batter and then let the hot Texas sun bake it solid. That’ll teach him. Also, it will probably feed some pretty hungry wild animals.