Gingerly
Definition
: very cautious or careful
Etymologists take a gingerly approach to assigning any particular origins to this word. While it might have come from the name of the spice, there's nothing concrete to back up that idea. Another conjecture is that it's related to an Old French word, gensor, which meant "delicate." That's because in 16th century English an earlier sense of gingerly often referred to dancing or walking with dainty steps. Not till the 17th century did it change to apply to movements that were cautious in order to avoid being noisy or causing injury, and to a wary manner in handling or presenting ideas. Not too surprisingly, given its -ly ending, gingerly is also quite often correctly used as an adverb, as in "they moved gingerly on the icy pond."
The surveyor looked at the property doubtfully and then looked at me.
"It's been in the family for generations." I said defensively. "It's stood for practically hundreds of years. Check the Land Registry if you don't believe me."
"I did check the Land Registry." He said bluntly. "I had to after the estate agents gave me a call - I just assumed they were pulling my leg."
"It's a very traditional method of house construction." I could feel myself beginning to bristle at his tone. "Which, yes, has fallen out of popularity in recent years but that means the house itself is practically a cultural icon."
"It's a nut job's acid induced daydream of a house." He said rudely. "Lady, you're trying to sell a house made of -"
I assumed the end of that sentence was going to be 'gingerbread' but I was probably never going to find out, on account of losing my shit and turning the nasty little condescending snot into the toad he was. Literally.
My sister popped her head out of the kitchen. "Oh dear, you didn't transmogrify another surveyor did you?"
"Yep." I said miserably. "They didn't even get to the part where they said the stained candy windows would be impossible to insure and in any case could iIprove they were as good as double glazing and did I have the installation guarantee from when they were installed. Because, of course, witches worried about shit like that when they built houses back in the early 1600s."
We both looked at the squat green toad making distressed noises on the carpeted living room floor. I grimaced.
"Can you pick that thing up please? I really can't bear to touch it."
"You know, you really are going to have to start transforming people into creatures you actually can stand to touch - otherwise what are you going to do when i'm not around? They might escape and then what'll happen - the police will be after you for kidnapping or false imprisonment or murder. What can't you turn them into a nice fluffy bunny rabbit or something. You like bunny rabbits."
"Which is why I definitely won't turn them into that. They don't deserve to be cute fluffy animals that people actually like. Slimy and squat is more than good enough for arrogant condescending arseholes them." I snapped back.
My sister sighed and picked up the toad. "I'll put him in the pond out back with the others then."
"Thanks."
"But you really are going to have to do something about that temper of yours - you know full well that if you want someone to buy this house, that's not going to happen if you keep turning all the professionals we need in order to be able to do that into toads."
"I turned one of them into a frog." I said sulkily.
She just rolled her eyes and walked out of the room.
I huffed and bent down to pick up the folder the surveyor had dropped. From the file, a slew of paperwork fell out, including the estate agent particulars.
She had to admit, the estate agent (the third they'd tried - the first two were still out in the back pond somewhere) had done an excellent job. The house looked beautiful in the photos, with it's elegant gingerbread lattice work on the eaves of the house, the gleaming marzipan tiled roof, the luscious looking iced balconies, the stained candy windows that caught the light just so, bathing everything in their reach with a golden syrupy glow. Truly, it looked like a piece from a fairy tale or a cake fit for a particularly upscale wedding. I had been coming here since I was a child and the wonder of it, the sheer giddy 'screw you' to conventional building regulations had always been a delight to me.
And it remained pristine for hundreds of years - no sloppy workmanship here allowing feral children to munch on it as they please - the preservation spell work woven into the very bricks and frosting of the house were a work of art in and of themselves, meaning that the house wouldn't ever so much as need a light bulb changing, let alone any heavy renovations.
Although trying to explain that to a layman that there the house would never need repairing was a nightmare in and of itself - and then they asked you to produce the paperwork to prove it! Like any self respecting witch would reveal her personal spell work to the world like that.
She scowled to herself. Really, was it actually surprising that her back garden was currently filling up with amphibious wildlife.
Her sister came back in and saw her looking at the paperwork. "Such lovely photos." She remarked. "Which is amazing considering how you were breathing down that poor boy's neck the entire time."
I sniffed. "Well, the others had done such a shoddy job, I wanted to make sure this one did it right."
"Which, I'm sure, had nothing to do with the fact that you were breathing down their necks the whole time too." She picked up a photo and admired it. "No wonder they sent a wedding photographer this time - they're a lot more used to stressful situations and, hmmm, over zealous mother in laws and such like."
I just scowled at her. Lately it was starting to feel like a scowl was permanently etched on my face.
"I just never understood." She went on thoughtfully. "Why you don't just take up the mantle and live here. Why do you want to sell it."
"I'm not a witch sis." I said. "I don't want to be stuck here, the stereotypical weird witch of the woods in her gingerbread cottage, waiting to eat kiddies and turn people she doesn't like into frogs."
Yes, it had been my dream as a child to live her and take over the family business. But I was a grown woman now and surely there must come a time when one grows out of the dream of living in a house made of sweets.
The sudden sound of alarmed croaking filled the room. A stork must have flown over the pond or a neighbour's cat jumped in the garden or something.
At least my cheeks had the decency not to let me down by blushing.
"I just want more to my life than that." I said stubbornly. Of course I did, I had plans, great plans. Like travelling the world (I hated airplanes) and starting a new job (offices gave me hives) or meeting interesting and different new people (I hated people.)
"Being a witch doesn't automatically make you ugly." My sister said gently.
I folded my arms. "One, that wasn't even an issue that bothered me until right this second when you brought it up, thanks sis and two, it doesn't exactly win you any popularity contests either."
She shrugged. "I wouldn't know about that. But are you sure you want to throw away generations of history for nothing?"
"It's not nothing!" I mean sure, yeah, I would technically be selling one of the greatest achievements of my family in generations and yes, I would be selling a house made of sweets to live in some sort of run of the mill little semi that didn't sing to you when you couldn't fall asleep at night and occasionally left you out plates of cookies if it thought you had a bad day. But still!
She tilted her head in apology. "Not nothing, no. But are you sure it's an equal trade."
"Why don't you have it then?" I said. Yes, as sulkily as only a younger sister can.
"I already have my practice." She said serenely. "I cannot in good faith abandon my patients. Besides, the house was left to you, not me." She handed me back the paperwork. "And you are right, it is for you to choose what you want to do with your life. Whatever you decide, I will support you."
A timer beeped in the kitchen.
"And there are my poppets, all lovely and baked and ready for the pins. Back in a minute sis."
"Mmm." I responded, not really listening. As I often found myself doing, I wandered off to my favourite room - the basement. Here you could clearly see the elegant figures and craftsmanship of my ancestor's work as it glowed faintly amongst the support pillars of the house. I wasn't sure that, even if I spent a lifetime studying it, that I could ever master the craft to the same degree.
It was beautiful. The entire confection of a building was beautiful.
And, truly, I loved it so.
Oh, bugger.
I sighed.
"Sis!" I called up the stairs.
"Yeah?"
"Would you mind taking down the For Sale sign out front while I de-toad the people out back."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I mean, where else am I basically going to get free snacks for life?"
I swore I could hear the house humming smugly to itself as I walked back up the stairs.
She had to admit, the estate agent (the third they'd tried - the first two were still out in the back pond somewhere) had done an excellent job. The house looked beautiful in the photos, with it's elegant gingerbread lattice work on the eaves of the house, the gleaming marzipan tiled roof, the luscious looking iced balconies, the stained candy windows that caught the light just so, bathing everything in their reach with a golden syrupy glow. Truly, it looked like a piece from a fairy tale or a cake fit for a particularly upscale wedding. I had been coming here since I was a child and the wonder of it, the sheer giddy 'screw you' to conventional building regulations had always been a delight to me.
And it remained pristine for hundreds of years - no sloppy workmanship here allowing feral children to munch on it as they please - the preservation spell work woven into the very bricks and frosting of the house were a work of art in and of themselves, meaning that the house wouldn't ever so much as need a light bulb changing, let alone any heavy renovations.
Although trying to explain that to a layman that there the house would never need repairing was a nightmare in and of itself - and then they asked you to produce the paperwork to prove it! Like any self respecting witch would reveal her personal spell work to the world like that.
She scowled to herself. Really, was it actually surprising that her back garden was currently filling up with amphibious wildlife.
Her sister came back in and saw her looking at the paperwork. "Such lovely photos." She remarked. "Which is amazing considering how you were breathing down that poor boy's neck the entire time."
I sniffed. "Well, the others had done such a shoddy job, I wanted to make sure this one did it right."
"Which, I'm sure, had nothing to do with the fact that you were breathing down their necks the whole time too." She picked up a photo and admired it. "No wonder they sent a wedding photographer this time - they're a lot more used to stressful situations and, hmmm, over zealous mother in laws and such like."
I just scowled at her. Lately it was starting to feel like a scowl was permanently etched on my face.
"I just never understood." She went on thoughtfully. "Why you don't just take up the mantle and live here. Why do you want to sell it."
"I'm not a witch sis." I said. "I don't want to be stuck here, the stereotypical weird witch of the woods in her gingerbread cottage, waiting to eat kiddies and turn people she doesn't like into frogs."
Yes, it had been my dream as a child to live her and take over the family business. But I was a grown woman now and surely there must come a time when one grows out of the dream of living in a house made of sweets.
The sudden sound of alarmed croaking filled the room. A stork must have flown over the pond or a neighbour's cat jumped in the garden or something.
At least my cheeks had the decency not to let me down by blushing.
"I just want more to my life than that." I said stubbornly. Of course I did, I had plans, great plans. Like travelling the world (I hated airplanes) and starting a new job (offices gave me hives) or meeting interesting and different new people (I hated people.)
"Being a witch doesn't automatically make you ugly." My sister said gently.
I folded my arms. "One, that wasn't even an issue that bothered me until right this second when you brought it up, thanks sis and two, it doesn't exactly win you any popularity contests either."
She shrugged. "I wouldn't know about that. But are you sure you want to throw away generations of history for nothing?"
"It's not nothing!" I mean sure, yeah, I would technically be selling one of the greatest achievements of my family in generations and yes, I would be selling a house made of sweets to live in some sort of run of the mill little semi that didn't sing to you when you couldn't fall asleep at night and occasionally left you out plates of cookies if it thought you had a bad day. But still!
She tilted her head in apology. "Not nothing, no. But are you sure it's an equal trade."
"Why don't you have it then?" I said. Yes, as sulkily as only a younger sister can.
"I already have my practice." She said serenely. "I cannot in good faith abandon my patients. Besides, the house was left to you, not me." She handed me back the paperwork. "And you are right, it is for you to choose what you want to do with your life. Whatever you decide, I will support you."
A timer beeped in the kitchen.
"And there are my poppets, all lovely and baked and ready for the pins. Back in a minute sis."
"Mmm." I responded, not really listening. As I often found myself doing, I wandered off to my favourite room - the basement. Here you could clearly see the elegant figures and craftsmanship of my ancestor's work as it glowed faintly amongst the support pillars of the house. I wasn't sure that, even if I spent a lifetime studying it, that I could ever master the craft to the same degree.
It was beautiful. The entire confection of a building was beautiful.
And, truly, I loved it so.
Oh, bugger.
I sighed.
"Sis!" I called up the stairs.
"Yeah?"
"Would you mind taking down the For Sale sign out front while I de-toad the people out back."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I mean, where else am I basically going to get free snacks for life?"
I swore I could hear the house humming smugly to itself as I walked back up the stairs.
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