Now that I live farther from work, and my commute is a typical Seattle nightmare (I had no idea how spoiled I had been!) I have even more time to take flights of fancy. In today’s traffic snarl, this is where my mind went:
What would it be like if we all lived in gingerbread houses?
First of all, neighborhoods would be much more whimsical. That would be fun. And if you woke up hungry at 3 a.m. you could simply reach over and break off a piece of your window sill. But impulse control would definitely be critical to your quality of life.
People who had fallen on hard times would have problems concealing it, because they’d probably start eating their houses for pure survival. And they’d be blamed for their own diabetes.
And you’d see homeless people gnawing on your candy cane fence posts all the time. That might cause an atmosphere of vigilantism. “Hey, you! Hands off my gum drops or I’ll pelt you with life savers!”
And rich people would find a way to corner the market on gingerbread, and tax all jelly beans and pretzels. Only the upper class could get their hands on M & Ms for their roofs. The 98% would have to settle for mini marshmallows, and they sure wouldn’t keep the rain off your head for long.
Even in Candyland, with its sweet foundations, we’d manage to sink to our lowest common denominator.
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