My use of "gingerbread dome" is with reference to this nostalgic retro futurism, wherein adults go back to what they thought the future might have been like. A 1950s mom appears, like a soccer mom of today, with the Gingerbread Dome she's been working on for her cubs, they cheer, a sweet scene. Never happened (or maybe it did, and so much the better).
Kenneth Snelson, the Pendleton lad turned internationally celebrated artist, has quite a collection of this literature. We'd each have something that flies, that much was clear, whether it would park in the driveway or hang in the closet was the only question.
No one envisioned me in the TSA line, snarfing a cylinder of Starbucks (reduced fat) because of the ban on little cans of stuff. Coming back, I tried to get Southwest to accept a cute little purse sized O2 tank that my wife could wear. They respectfully declined. I respect that. But then, where's that personal jet you when you need one, NavAm or whatever.
In the outtakes, dad storms home drunk and mad that "they leak" (I think he means domes) and he smashes that Gingerbread Dome as a waste of mom's time and why doesn't she grow up and get a real job, so they can pay for day care. We tend not to be nostalgic for that part.
My daughter, only 12, is already nostalgic for Sony's Aibo, another valued exhibit in that "wasn't the future wonderful?" hall of fame.