It’s just as well that I never go into my kitchen. I have some kind of entropic field.

An old friend of mine came into town, and as part of the evening’s festivities we baked gingerbread, because that’s how we roll. And by “we baked,” I mean that I stood in the kitchen and handed her things, and she baked. It came out nicely! It smelled like a molasses factory, in a good way. It looked like normal gingerbread should look:

Disclaimer: this picture of gingerbread is a representative example, and not our actual gingerbread.

See, I asked for lemon icing, which sounded appropriately delicious. We banged around in the refrigerator for lemons, and pulled out sugar, and followed the recipe exactly. I stood and watched, helpfully, and imagined the gingerbread coming out with that slightly rum-soaked glaze that happens all the time in the food shows, where women pour things contentedly over cakes and the camera pushes in like it’s porn.

When the “lemon glaze” was finished, we poured it over the gingerbread in a very prosaic and you-missed-a-spot way that gives me new respect for anyone who can cook on camera, and let it cool.

Something went horribly wrong at some point (entropic fieeeeeld), and now the gingerbread looks like this:

Good news: if you can peel the lemon off, it’s delicious.

* Band name!