My garage is stacked from top to bottom with colorful boxes. That’s why the neighbors come slinking over in the dead of night, sliding their checks under the door. Embarrassed, they brush away the white lemon powder from below their twitching noses, all the while begging, “Don’t tell my wife, please…but ya’ll got anymore of them Pecan Sandies?” Yeah. It’s that time of year again. The time of year where I am forced to bare witness to the darkness and despair that lurks deep in the souls of our fellow man.
My family deals Girl Scout Cookies.
Each February, they come a’callin’. We’re the Walter White of Samoa and our goods are gooder than most. There are pamphlets of temptation, filled out with checkmarks of sorrow. My wife and daughter disappear for chunks of weekends at a time in order to stand outside the local grocery stores and push sugar on the masses.
Psst. Hey, Grandma. Lookin’ to score some Thin Mints?
The townspeople are weak to their power. They’ll give you the change from their wallets and the rainy day funds from their bank accounts, all for the sweet taste of scouting. It’s painful to watch and an addiction that I am glad I manage to avoid.
Don’t get me wrong. Personally, I like girl scout cookies. Samoas are OK. Tagalongs are even better. That said, I’m not an addict. It’s not a habit. It’s cool. I feel alive. If you don’t have it, you’re on the other side. But, for me, it’s something I manage to do in moderation. Thank God.
If I didn’t, I’d be done. The sheer number of cookies stacked into my home each year would put the Keebler Elves into a diabetic coma. Before we moved to a house with a garage, the front of our home was completely blocked off by colorful boxes. It looked like Cookie Monster’s condo, if he became a hoarder in his old age. Aww. Sad face.
If I did happen to be a cookie crackhead, my life would be over. I couldn’t imagine how overwhelming the urge would be to toss them into my mouth as soon as they rolled up in our packed car. I’d never be able to stay here. I often think of how terrible it would be if they were Gummi Worms, my candy kryptonite. I’d devour them in droves and my daughter would be like the little girl in the Grinch cartoon who, upon finding the holiday ruined, tearfully asks, “Why, Santi Claus, why?”
Luckily, cookies don’t really do it for me. I can hold my own in the face of their temptation. It’s the rest of the world that seems to be insane over them. Suddenly, everyone wants to know when my wife will be around. I get phone calls from friends we haven’t spoken to in twelve months, searching for her schedule. They ask when their shipments will be coming in and what we have to offer in the meantime. Just a little push and they’ll be smiling.
Where is she? Who knows? But as the cookie mom, these months, she’s usually off itemizing spreadsheets and counting crates, hidden away in her home office; a mix of Betty Crocker and Pablo Escobar. Those cookie crooks in our lives, though, are undaunted in their pursuit.
I see people at their weakest. It’s like a special episode of the show Intervention, if the entire neighborhood had the addiction problem, instead of just one guy in a Yankees cap. Everyone’s jonesing for that hit of the S’mores. It’s like a town full of Wimpys, promising, “I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a Snickerdoodle today.”
You’ve got a problem there, paunchy. You all do. I see it in your eyes. You’d sell your kids for a hit of this GSC. Lucky for you, we have no need for more children. Although, maybe they could help haul some of these boxes from my garage. Let me ponder that offer and get back to you.
In the meantime, know one thing. The girl scouts see you and know who you are. They know how to harness your desperation and convert it into dollar bills. Your weak knees make for easy prey. They’re aware of what you want and they’re more than willing to get it for you. You want some lasagna, Garfield? Huh? Do ya? Good. Now make with the cheese.
Hold on tight, folks. I believe in you. I know you can make it through this. You’ve made it through worse. Fight the urge to throw away your life savings on boxes of seasonal treats. Girl scout cookies can’t take over your lives unless you let them. So, don’t. But if you do…
…let me know. I’ll send you a link to our order form.