It's that time of year: my wife has once agreed to put on a gingerbread house decorating party for the kiddo (continue to be impressed with kids these days, ain't no way at 14 me or my friends were secure enough in our masculinity to do this objectively fun activity).
So she's in the kitchen swearing about the twelve houses she's baking from scratch, because again, the kits you buy are dogshit.
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