Gingy - gingerbread, vanilla

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, ‘Brrr. It’s chilly betwixt these sheets. What can I do to warm the cockles of my cold, cold heart? To coax my senses? To be transported to a sugar wonderland where candy canes and silver lanes are well and truly aglow with impure thoughts about devastatingly attractive walking red flags?’ Think about it as you pull up in your Honda Civic to the driveway of a freshly baked Gingerbread house. Your letterbox tastes of maple syrup and free pizza coupons, as the caramel cookie-shaped doorknob you’re reaching out to open your candy-jubed home with crumbles in your hand. Probably shouldn’t have gone skint on that locksmith, my guy. That’s poor planning on your part. Also, why are you eating the mailbox? Slow down, Hansel & Gretel. At least you can lament your total lack of home security and zero will to not consume inanimate objects in the safe hands of a vanilla and anise-laden existential crisis. The kind that leaves you with the soft remains of sweet sugar inside a spicy little cinnamon cabin with buttercream frosting insulation. Seasonal Affective Christmas Disorder? Never heard of her.

Do you know the muffin man? Baby, it’s cuffing season. We are the muffin man.