Our Gingerbread Man

Many think that gingerbread men are a stable of Christmas. I do too, but it has never been a dessert I was particularly fond of, although I do it some from time to time, if only to give me a quick Christmas feeling. I eat it more for the feeling than the taste, if that makes sense. But is especially remind me of the tale of the Gingerbread Man. And recently, I lived my own mundane version of the tale. A week ago, I went to a nearby corner shop to buy bits and bots and saw that Cadbury had made a Gingerbread Edition of their Dairy Milk. So I bought it for my wife, who loves chocolate and special editions of classics such as the Dairy Milk bar. But I left the bar at the counter. I saw when I got home that I had forgotten it. As I needed to get back to work, I could not walk to the corner shop and correct my mistake, but my wife went there for me, even though I had not asked for a receit. She managed to get it back without too much trouble. Nevertheless, it felt like this Gingerbread Man, like in the old tale, tried his hardest not to be eaten.