I was busily stationed at the sink scrubbing dishes, when Fiddledaddy came in from the great outdoors asking me if I wanted any Girl Scout Cookies.
“Are you new?”
I followed him outside, leaving the purple rubber gloves on the counter. On the driveway, I encountered a mom, cookie sheet in hand. Her little green badge laden Girl Scout was more enamored with Jensen’s Rip Rider and did not spot an easy kill. Her mother, who likely recognized the hormonal roller coaster that I am obviously on, did. What other reason would I have for exiting the house wearing red Santa socks with black sandal Crocs.
Jensen got in on the act and asked if he could order some Girl Scout Cookies, but alas his parents pointed out that they are not gluten free. Wherein the mother-of-the-girl-scout began opening up her brochure, “Well lets see if we have anything that’s gluten-free.” Oh, she’s good. But sadly, no gluten-free cookies. When she noticed my crossed arms, toes kicking at the pavement, noting my obvious inner turmoil, she quickly pointed out that a 4 Girl Scout Thin Mints only rack up 4 Weight Watcher points.
Four is just my jumping off point. “How much for a whole column?”
I decided it would not be to my advantage to do the math in my head so I made a snap decision, “Sure, put me down for a box of Thin Mints.”
Tonight at dinner, the conversation eventually drifted to talk of the impending delivery of the Girl Scout Cookies to our house. Emme boldly asked, “Will I be able to have one?”
“Well that all depends on your behavior that day?”
“Just that day?”
To which her father injects, “Yes, a fresh box of Thin Mints seldom make it to the second day in this house.” Sad. But true.
Several noses will be pressed up against the window pane next month, awaiting the return of the cookie pusher.
Therefore, I will just meet her down at the mailbox.
Is anyone else powerless to say NO to the cookie pushers? And what is your guilty pleasure?