chad and brad and a house for divorced dads

my gingerbread house is not retrofitted for earthquakes, there are spice jars inside claiming squatters rights. it was in foreclosure, the two gingerbread folks that came in the kit are divorced dads, one of them buying this fixer upper because apartment living felt cold even though the complex has a pool and a gym and lots of communal spaces to chill and grill. the whole place reeked of loneliness and take out for one, but you ordered enough food the chinese place put 2 pairs of chopsticks and 2 fortune cookies in the bag and it made you cry, reduced you to tears for the first time in forever, sitting in what feels like corporate housing. you call chad and ask him what he’s up to and before you know it you’re both eating sesame chicken and lo mein on your balcony with your tiny battery operated christmas tree whose lights are stuck on rapid rave and before you know it you’re both realizing it doesn’t have to be this way.

”Brad,” chad says. “ there’s that house by the freeway, the one with the creepy eye balls that’s been in foreclosure…i bought it. I bought it and i need your help.”

So you say yes because while it’s nice having a concierge and your kids think you live in a hotel, you really want a place to make sunday morning pancakes, a place to call home.