The column, “Yes, Sweetums, gingerbread emergencies do exist” was initially written for and published on It’s a Southern Thing. The link at the bottom takes you to the full column, or go directly to the column by clicking here.
Sweetums does not believe in gingerbread emergencies, y’all. Last week, he came into the bedroom and noticed I had tucked beside our bed a box of Little Debbie Christmas Gingerbread Cookies – those soft, individually wrapped pillows of lusciousness coated in icing and sprinkles. (sprinkles!)
We have a mutually accepted rule about not eating in the bed – because crumbs tend to grow to enormous proportions once they make their way under the covers and make sleep difficult – so of course my hubby wanted to know why the box was there, in a place that looked as if I might have been trying to hide them in preparation of eating them in bed (which I so wasn’t, y’all).
“For gingerbread emergencies,” I said, reasonably.
Sweetums shook his head in bemusement (he does that a lot. I think he’s developing some kind of tic). “There’s no such thing,” he says.
Well. As usual, I’d been given the task of educating my poor, adorably clueless husband. He apparently didn’t realize gingerbread has medicinal properties. I can’t blame him entirely, though; many doctors don’t even know about its powers. They don’t stop to consider the positives: the feeling of wellbeing you get simply from smelling gingerbread, the thanks from your tummy when you have that first taste, or the ebbing of anxiety that comes from biting off faux-cookie limbs one at a time. Gingerbread is like an all-purpose drug.
Here is an example:
- When you go Christmas shopping and have to park really, really far from the store. Eat 2 Little Debbie Gingerbread Peoples