I don't really want your cookies. I don't. Honest. I buy them to be nice to you, to support your fun.
Some of you live in my neighborhood. Some of you visit me at work. The rest surprise me with appearances in front of the grocery store, Starbucks, or even the auto parts store.
"Would you like a box of Girl Scout cookies? Only $3.50 a box."
"NO! Get away from me, You Monster!" this is what I am thinking. But somehow, all that comes out is "Ok..."
Maybe it is your bright and shiny smiles, with the pig tails, and the cute little paramilitary outfits. It makes me think of paratroopers dropping from the sky with cookies.
Dosidos, Tagalongs, and Thin Mints -you have named your goodies with harmless sounding names. The boxes sit will sit in my cupboard waiting for me to be bored and weak. Then they spring out like some cute little puppy. "You like me! I will be your friend. I am just a chocolaty peanut butter tagalong."
Your boxes are designed by an evil genius in such a way to make me eat the entire container. They cannot be resealed, and it would be a terrible waste to let half of the special treat go bad. What if I don't have a big enough zip lock baggy? And if I do, how stupid is it to have 3 lonely little cookies in a bag next to the box of healthy cereal. They might get picked on in there.
The cookies talk to me and say terrible things like, "Nobody's looking. Eat me too. You just touched me and contaminated me for the next person anyway. That is terribly unhygienic and rude. Didn't you just pet the dog?"
Every year I buy 12 or more boxes, and every year I hate myself. Why can't Girl Scouts sell something that is good for me, like tofu? I have never had tofu but I think it is supposed to be good for me, and I would be forced to eat it if you sold it. Don't you want me to be healthy?
Or maybe you could sell a smoothie mix, or those horrible rice cakes. I hate those rice cakes things, but I would buy them and eat them if only you would sell them. Then I could respect myself.
Now I am at the mercy of all of you cute little pushers with a product that is not good for me. It is not my fault I am 42 and have to watch what I eat. It is not my fault I am spineless and unable to resist the chocolate covered peanut butter crunchy piece of heaven that you wave in front of me. I am just a weak man! Help me to help myself. Stay away.
So, don't come to my door. I am not answering. If you are set up in front of the store I need to visit, I'll come back later. If you attend my school and come at me with the signup sheet, I am pulling the fire alarm!
I don't want to hear how close you are to your personal goal of 200 boxes sold so that you can go to the Hannah Montana movie and have a pizza party. Enough already.
Yes, you can come by next year. My ten remaining boxes should hold me over for a couple of weeks. After a few months, I will have forgotten the guilt and ready for my next pallet delivery.
