Gingerbread boy

A while back, I was writing posts about favorite picture books. The Gingerbread Boy never occurred to me, because it isn't a favorite, though I tend to like Paul Galdone's work. I read The Gingerbread Boy yesterday, to a preschool group, and today in storytime. Yesterday they were a bit unhappy about the ending, so the preschool adults and I had to reassure the kids: "It's a cookie."
So today I thought to avoid kiddie angst by telling the book more conversationally, especially after the Boy jumps onto the fox's back. "Is this a good idea?", I asked at each stage. There was mixed consensus. Somehow, talking about it made it all the more harrowing when the Boy is eaten. There was a silence in the room when I finished. So in an attempt to lighten things, I said that this was an interesting philosophical question which could be pursued on the way home: why is it fun and okay to eat a cookie in If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, but stressful here?
They all - adults and kids - stared at me some more. The silence felt strange. So I made them get up and sing.
Anyway, later in the day I was telling this to a co-worker, and musing that I didn't see why it was so upsetting. For one thing, it's a cookie. Also, I pointed out that to me, the most harrowing moment in the story is when the Boy realizes that he has no good choices - either he stays on this side of the river and is caught, or falls in the water and disintegrates, or goes with the fox.
My co-worker thinks I've been thinking about this story too much.

Gossip Girl, singular

It drives me crazy when I read references to "Gossip Girls", plural, in connection with the TV show or series of books. It's a Gossip Girl, singular, to whom all gossip is sent. No one knows who the person is. Person. Singular. Sorry to be a grouch, but when even Michael Cart gets it wrong, it's time to start the revolution.
OK. Maybe "revolution" is going too far.