At  home in the evening

She tripped in the door.

From the sofa the gingerbread man turned his rigid silhouette angled at the doorway,

Looking askance.  He gestured for her to sit on the seat of pins and needles next to him.

The smell of dinner burning came from the kitchen.

'I'll clean that up in two shakes of a lamb's tail'- her grandmother said things like that -

And off she went.

The gingerbread man didn't like her doing that.

He offered her the remote control, she could push the buttons and everything.

But off she ran to  clean up the burnt soup.  She sure had a mind of her own.

When she came back the gingerbread man had an upside down smile

And one of his black currant eyes had fallen off.

He looked lopsided and queer and sinister.

He offered her the seat of pins and needles.

Again.

The remote control and the i-pad were on the other seat so she had no choice.

'Kiss me,' he said.

She contemplated the upside down smile; muddy pink frosting that would stay like grit in her mouth.

'Better go check the washer,' she said and dashed away.

The gingerbread man complained that she always had something better to do.

With one black current eye, brown stumpy arms crossed as best he could, he looked at the t.v. and pushed the buttons on the remote control.

What a life, spent in front of a television, she thought.

Sooner or later the other black current eye will fall off, then the sugar buttons will go.

Before you know it they will put him outside for the birds to eat.

Maybe that's not such a bad idea, she mused.

Just in case, before going back to the living room,

She stopped in to see how the kids' homework was going.