I was on a Pinterest high.
I’d actually made and nailed a project I’d found on Pinterest—something I thought wasn’t possible for me, EVER!
After all, Pinterest is just my Fantasyland right? I mean, why in the he%@ am I pinning wedding stuff when I’ve been happily married for 21 years and have no plans to ever have another wedding, unless I’m widowed at 91 and I’m lonely so when I meet some dapper chap at nursing home Bingo night I swoon and accept his offer to pool our social security benefits. But at that point, if I try to rock the Very Wang tulle number I have pinned on my “Perfect Wedding” board I might look a tad ridiculous.
Anyhoo, from Pinterest: I found, I followed through, I conquered.
Maybe, I’d gotten cocky about it.
Maybe that’s why the universe set me up for epic Pinterest fail.
I was on a business trip with Jason in Oklahoma City last weekend and we were cruisin’ the mall in between meetings when suddenly, I saw it in a quaint little boutique: the “gingerdead men” cookie cutter I’d just recently pinned!
It was darling and I got star struck seeing an actual Pinterest product in person. I got caught up in the moment and the inflated confidence of my recent Pinterest triumph.
Why else would I spend $9.95 on a freakin’ cookie cutter?!
But I plunked down my credit card with stars in my eyes and big plans of wowing my family on Monday night with the greatest FHE treats ever!
Monday morning I ditched unpacking suitcases and all other post-travel recovery responsibilities and headed to the kitchen to bake.
This was a big.
I ditched making cute food years ago.
I de-boxed handsome Mr. Gingerdead and prepared to earn my Mother of the Year award.
I was surprised no recipe was included with him, but assumed if they didn’t include a recipe then any good gingerbread recipe should work, right? (Why am I always so stupid?)
I do have a great gingerbread recipe which had gone unbaked since before my kids hit puberty, so I pulled it out of my recipe box and followed it to the letter to ensure success.
The pre-baked version of my men looked awesome!
The cookie cutter/stamper worked perfectly—just like they looked on the box—and I popped them in the oven ready to rack up another Pinterest victory and accolades from my adoring family.
But then something terrible happened.
The burning heat of the oven and the hellfire torment of a cursed fate set in and deflated my gingerdead men.
All the cool skeletal shapes created by the stamp spread out into a blur of drab nothingness.
What went wrong?
I did everything right?
They looked so perfect before.
Stupid, expensive cookie cutter!
For ten freakin’ bucks, you couldn’t include a small piece of paper with a recipe on it for gingerbread that is guaranteed to hold its shape?!
Why do I let you suck me in?!
Why do I waste precious minutes and hours of my life in your seductive world that only sets me up for disappointment?!
On the up side, my cookies did taste really good.
On the down side, my family mocked me.
They said my cookies looked like the people from the movie Wall-e.
Apparently the FHE lesson we had on kindness didn’t take.