Magical Crap

I love Christmas. It's such a magical time. Hoar frost glistens on the dead-looking trees, buses with "Merry Christmas" signs zip past, coating everything within a 20ft. radius with muddy slush, children bounce happily in fake Santas' laps who are wishing they'd never quit their day jobs... *dreamy sigh*... Yes, I do love it. Yesterday my mother and I made gingerbread cookies together. We've been doing this every Christmas since I can remember, and probably even before that, and every year my mom's elaborate designs get progressively-- well, less elaborate. We've built churches, we've built sleighs, we've made fireplaces with little stockings glued to the mantle with icing; every year, something new, something creative, something capturing the magic of the Christmas season. This year we made Christmas crap. Magical Christmas crap, of course, but Christmas crap nonetheless. We made an executive decision that, since it all tastes the same anyway, we were going to roll gingerbread ball, put them on a baking sheet, mush them, bake them, dip them in icing, and voila! Perfection. As far as crap is concerned, anyway. At first we felt guilty not putting in the time and effort to built Rudolph soaring over the Empire State building, but while eating the cookies, we realized it came down to this: No matter what shape your cookies are in, you can't take the magic out of Christmas. And they still taste amazing.