In theory, I should hate the Girl Scouts and their blasted cookies. After years of torture at the hands of the Girl Scout leader who drank lots of the Kool-Aid, I have every right to never want to see another green sash for as long as I shall live. The evil Girl Scout leader made me wear my uniform to school every single week, even on school picture day. It wasn't the fun blue uniform the Daisies wear, nor was it that poop-brown Brownies uniform. No, siree, it was the bright green pants, crazy patterned shirt, and green sash of the Juniors set. I WORE THOSE GREEN PANTS ON PICTURE DAY.
The same crazed Girl Scout leader forced me to go door-to-door selling cookies. It was an uphill walk, both ways, through ten feet of snow. And lest you think I exaggerate, I lived in Minot, North Dakota at the time. Cookie season is in January. Do the math, but make sure you carry the one because OMG! There was a lot of snow there. Always.
In case you didn't figure it out, the lunatic Girl Scout leader was my mom. She drank gallons of the Kool-Aid. She might have lived on the stuff. Every year she drove me through neighborhoods all over the vast nothingness that is North Dakota because I had no choice but to sell at least 300 boxes of blasted cookies. She would sit in the car, toasty and warm, while I trudged through snow drift after snow drift, begging people to PLEASE just buy 100 boxes because then I could go home and be warm, too.
Whatever.
Here's where I'm going to admit something I never thought I would say: that torture might have led me to gain a few selling skills. I might have used those skills at some point in time. Maybe. I don't want to get all carried away and give anybody too much credit for the champion ear piercing sales skills I demonstrated in college.
These days, the only thing the Girl Scouts are learning from cookie sales is how to hand the sales sheet over to their parents. Or do they not do the sales sheet anymore? It seems more like the girls and their parents hide at random locations around town and play Marco Polo with those cookies. Seriously, you would not believe how much trouble I went to in order to find a few boxes of those cookies. A LOT OF TROUBLE. I think there is a vast conspiracy to keep cookies out of my mouth.
Over the weekend I finally found a respectable stash of the crack . . . er . . . I mean cookies. In theory, I secured enough to last months. (Thank you so much @AccessClosing! And @soulfulleoness!)
In theory.
Two years ago, Alexis was not at all interested in Girl Scout cookies. It was as it should be. Momma gets all the cookies for herself. This year, Alexis has evolved into a Girl Scout cookie weapon of mass consumption. People, she ate an entire box of Peanut Butter Patties (I refuse to acknowledge the name changes, sorry.). AN ENTIRE BOX. IN TWO DAYS.
I'm hunting down more cookies. They will be secured in a top-secret, locked location. If anybody tries to touch them, they best run for dear life.
