Each year I tell myself that I’m not buying cookies. Darn those adorable little girl smiles! The door bell rang a couple of weeks ago, shortly after dinner. It was close to dusk – too late to be UPS or Fed Ex. I opened the door reluctantly, not wanting
to deal with a church or a sales person or a landscaper looking for work. And there they were. About seven years old; cute as buttons; mom on the sidewalk with younger siblings and a wagon.
This year they’ve changed things. We no longer order and wait a few weeks before paying and receiving them. Oh, no … they’ve gotten sneaky this year. Right there – in their small hands – THIN MINTS! The girls were chattering about where they live and who lives next to her and on and on. I stood there salivating.
Oh, girls, I have no cash. I’m so sorry. The box of Thin Mints stare back at me. But wait – maybe… I close the door slightly and race to the kitchen, find my purse, my wallet – three dollars in singles. They cost four. I go back to tell them to wait. Shove the three dollars into one of the little girl’s hands and glance at the box. Then I race to the back of the house and the piggy bank of coins I keep for emergencies like this. I empty the entire jar onto the bed. Twenty-five, twenty-six, fifty one, seventy-five, ninety. Are you kidding me? Short by ten cents?
Back to the kitchen. I lift up my purse and dump all of its contents onto the counter. Ah ha! A quarter!
I’m back, huffing and puffing, heart racing, sweating. Such hard work to buy cookies. But I’m smiling when I open the door again. I hand them a fist full of dimes, nickels, pennies, and quarters. I tell them to count it – but please hand me the box first!
I wave at the mom. I listen to their thanks. I apologize for not being able to buy more while my tight jeans and the bathroom scale are thankful that I can not. Darn those cute little girls. I might have said no if they hadn’t been holding that box right there in front of me. But oh, no, – Girl Scouts have gotten cagey!
Who can say no to those faces? Those dark brown, round faces staring up at you. Oh, you thought I meant the girls. No, no, — the dark chocolate covered cookies on the box! Screaming – no, not the freezer; not the pantry; open me; open me!
And of course, I did.
I also succumbed. It's the Samoa's that get me.