When I was a kid, before these gender-confused politically correct times, I was taught that men were men and cookies were also men. It’s Adam and Eve not Adam and cookie sleeve! My husband feels differently. But I think he’s just trying to hide some dark, sinful temptations—to eat gingerbread cookies, which are men. Obviously.
Listen, we’ve all struggled with temptation. Once, when I was a little girl, I asked my parents to join the softball team before I realized what that means in God’s eyes. I grew up in a very small town with a very small megachurch and they taught me that gayness is something you have to fight within yourself at every turn! My husband never learned this, and I worry for his soul. His parents didn’t concern themselves with the gender of gingerbread cookies or Santa or the Easter Bunny. (Remember: every fun holiday figure from your childhood has a gender and it is ALWAYS MALE. Also gender is the same as biological sex. That’s why the Easter Bunny has such a whopping rabbit penis.)
My husband had one of those touchy-feely “no-spanking” childhoods. They actually hugged him as a kid! A man! Godless hippies. They let him “express his feelings” and, most horrifyingly, stick male gingerbread cookies IN HIS MOUTH. Like the gays do! Dear reader, I believe deep down my husband loves women as God intended, he was just misguided and confused by the agenda of his liberal upbringing.
Gingerbread Man Or Woman? Let Jesus Guide You.
If what I learned from Pastor Dan is true, gay people want to actively recruit all of our drab, pudgy husbands into their lifestyle and they will resort to ANY MEANS to make that happen. Sure, we don’t know any gay people, but one time we got an Entertainment Weekly magazine delivered to our house, so clearly, we’re on their radar.
He insists that I’m “being too literal” and they’re “just cookies” but that’s how Satan gets you. One day you’re eating cookies with pants, next thing you know you’re the Grand Marshall of the gay pride parade and writing about butt sex for Teen Vogue. If I don’t keep my husband from these cookies he’s one bite away from foreskin docking with Ian McKellen. Hands off, Gandalf. This is my man.
Sometimes I will catch him looking longingly at our gingerbread town display, with the sexy gingerbread men and the sexy gingerbread male dogs and the sexy gingerbread houses (also male), and wonder: is our marriage so fragile it can be ruined by a cookie? YES. All straight marriages are. Especially the god fearing ones. Honestly, it’s emotional torture going to any holiday party. He goes straight to the cookies. I know what he wants and it’s not my woman body.
If my husband so much as touches a Christmas cookie again I’m leaving. Even if it’s not a gingerbread man. All the Christmas shapes are way too sexually suggestive when you think about it. Christmas tree? Butt plug. Christmas star? Butthole. Round? Anal beads. Wreath? Something too horrible to discuss in polite company.
Let me get something straight. As in heterosexual. My religion taught me that anything you enjoy too much is a horrible sin. My husband already has one fist in the wreath, so to speak, so from now on, no male Christmas things in this house! Especially gingerbread!