Girl Scouts; A Tragedy
February 8, 2012 § 4 Comments
The UPS man usually comes to the door around three o’clock with his deliveries. When our door bell rang I was busy cutting up vegetables for the pasta sauce I was going to cook for the girls, so I figured I’d get it off the stoop once I’d finished my work.
As the ding donged, I said out loud, “It’s the man with a package for me,” which deterred the girls from a screeching run to see who it was.
It wasn’t the UPS guy, though. It was sweet Katie from down the street with her mom Lisa and I felt a little guilty for not getting to the door more quickly.
I scanned them to see if I could figure out the reason for their visit. Folded beneath Lisa’s arm was the Girl Scout cookie order list; the Girl Scout seal proudly emblazoned in green and the colorful scribble marks of eager customers’ names and addresses.
I was happy to see them as I do love a Girl Scout. I remember being one myself until I tired of the meetings and the camping. I much preferred being a Brownie; much less pressure for me to become wilderness savvy.
Lisa and Katie were not taking orders, but had a bag of leftovers that didn’t sell and they wanted them off their hands.
The irony that my last Mommyland post was in regard to healthy eating and semi-cleansing was not lost on me. With a big smile and a high-pitched “I’m so happy to see you” voice bought three boxes without question.
Thankfully they weren’t all of my favorites (Thin Mints and those coconut Somoas were missing), but that one box of Peanut Butter Patties could mean trouble and I realized I was tempting fate. The other two boxes were shortbread(ish), not as enticing, but easily scarfed down in one sitting if I’d had an especially long hard day with a couple crazy kids.
Just when I make the commitment to healthier eating, something happens (ding dong) and the idea of tossing that healthier lifestyle out the front door (in this case to writhe on the curb behind my Girl Scout) becomes incredibly appealing.
Rest easy friends, not a single one passed my lips.
Though tempting, I remained steadfast and feel better for it now, as I lace up my Muzinos for an easy six mile prep run. Feeling lighter as I tackle Saturday’s nineteen will be better than any cookie could possibly taste.
Still, there was an internal struggle that I thought should be recognized and noted.
The struggle between good and evil; between flax seeds and Tagalongs.
The stuff of ancient tragedies, made current thanks to the Girl Scouts.
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