As you may, or may not remember, dear readers, I had a nicely masochistic act of Christmas cheer this year and blogged about it: I made a gingerbread house. Well actually, it wasn’t just me, it was two other people too. Mr. B built the walls while Pookis basically shouted orders and I did the decorating. Pain in the ass.
If you read the blog I posted on that, you’ll know the disdain I have for that thing. I let it sit here ALL the way past Christmas. It was an outlet for our anger. It stared me in the face daily. Never a day did go by that at least once one of us didn’t say something to the effect of “I hate that f*(king thing.” It’s fate had been sealed before it’d begun.
I think I made mention of dissolving it in a bottle of Jack Daniels and drinking it to absorb it’s power. I almost did do that. I really honestly did. But I didn’t have the heart. Mr. B had grown to hate the thing as much as me and I thought that perhaps I should give him a chance to display his power over the thing. I mean, I’m small and mean, but he’s huge and mean and I thought it would probably be more fun to watch him destroy it. He’s pretty creative.
I couldn’t resist the urge to jump up and down screaming “IT’S DYIN! IT’S DYIN!” like Juliet Lewis in Natural Born Killers.
I told him he could destroy it, his face LIT up like a…well…a Christmas tree.
“REALLY?!” he said
“Yes, really, lemme get the camera. I don’t want this moment to ever by far from our minds.” I said
And I grabbed it.
Now, you might think that just a hard toss in the garbage or on the ground would be enough. But this is Mr. B we are talking about here. He’s a perpetual angsty teenager, and he did get a bit creative.
What did he do first? Did he throw it? No. Did he kick it? No, no. First, he set it down very gently on the garbage can outside. He looked it right it’s it’s evil little candy eyes…
And he punched it.
Punched it like he’d punch a man trying to steal his beer.
Punched like an slightly drunk polo shirt wearing frat boy at a Ministry concert.
First, actually, he geared up to punch it. He was sh&t talking it on the way out of the door like a boxer..
Then he gave it a nice hook, and trust, he reared back quite a bit…
Re-living that fills my heart with joy.
Then, frustrated that enough damage had been done, he started systematically breaking it’s little spicy body…
He did this for awhile actually…
The look of anger is priceless. The little bugger was really put together. Those walls didn’t want to come down.
A few minutes later, huffing, chest puffed out like he’d just taken on Tyson he says
“You know what, wait, wait…here…” and out comes a “THIS IS SPARTA” like scream followed by a…
And, gloriously, the battle had been one. That’ll teach it.
I HATE that freakin’ thing. I hate it with all of my cold little black heart. Someone should make a frustrating time management video game based on erecting gingerbread houses. The pieces keep falling over and the frosting dries too fast and a whole family is behind you crying and shouting…it’d surely be the end of gaming as we know it. F&#k Tetris, that would be the world’s most frustrating game.
I’m filling with ease and relief today knowing that thing is gone from existence. Knowing it no longer has any room at my table. Knowing that somewhere, somehow, right now, it’s dining in Gingerbread Hell.