This isn’t the first time I’ve said it, and it probably won’t be last, either, since my beautiful daughter, the Princess Puddinette is only seven years old and has many years of Girl Scouting yet ahead of her. But, still, it bears repeating: there’s something monumentally unnerving about Girl Scout cookies.
Seriously, the things have got to be, straight-up, some kind magic.
What’s that? You don’t believe in magic? Fine. I, mean, it’s a shame, truly, because Life is, or at least should be, full of the stuff, and not just the “arcana” kind that’s strictly the purview of creepy-looking old dudes with stars-and-moons robes and pointy hats. But I digress. Anyway,
even if you’re a member of the anti-magic side of the fence, you have to agree that there’s something up with this cookie business. I know, instead, let’s blame the power and pull of Girl Scout cookies on some kind of incredibly advanced futuristic chemistry.
Yes, clearly, that must be it. Girl Scout leaders of the future, in order to preserve financial solvency for all time, must have sent some form of undetectable human-addiction additive back in time to the current Girl Scout bakers, who now bake it into every batch. The end result, of course, is that we’re all reduced to a form of slack-jawed drone in search of ever more sugary, be-sleeved goodness.
I mean, one or the other, magic or futuristic chemistry, something is in play here. Because the sheer madness brought on by Girl Scout cookies is otherwise as inexplicable as how Snooki became a bestselling author (but that’s a whole other post).
Don’t believe me? Well, how’s this for proof. I work in a smallish department by most American corporate standards. It’s right around 10 people, give or take. And yet, a fraction – not all, mind you, just some – of those people ordered all this:
Yes, those are all GS cookies orders, bagged up individually. See?
And, believe me, we’ve been around the block a time or two and I’ve discussed “the cookie magic” with other cookie
dealers salespeople, this is not atypical. These cookies? They sell themselves like, well, Twinkies used to move Cheech and Chong’s last apartment. In fact, one of my co-workers is currently, er, with child, and I think she’s been about a hair’s breadth away from scratching my eyes out two or three times in the past 10 days because the cookies hadn’t yet arrived.
Thankfully, my peepers are safe; the “packages” have been delivered.
Oh, and hey, if this talk of Girl Scout cookies has gotten you
drooling dreaming of a sleeve of Thin Mints or Peanut Butter Sandwiches, It’s not too late to get an order in now. I’d—err, that is, the Princess Puddinette—would be happy to fulfill your cookie munchin’ needs.
Come on, you know you just want a little taste. Why not let me hook you up?
One way or another, we all will serve our Girl Scout Overloads from The Future.