To the Four Unopened Boxes of Girl Scout Cookies Sitting On My Kitchen Counter

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Hi! Gosh, you guys are cute. The Scout who left you wrapped up in that old hot-dog bag on my doorstep is so thrifty. I hope she earns a badge for that.

Come on into the kitchen and meet the other two boxes I bought from the girl we carpool with. You all make such a colorful little stack on the counter. It’s nice the way you’ve updated your look from time to time. Do they update the girls’ uniforms, too? I can’t remember the last time I saw a Girl Scout in a uniform. This is what mine looked like:

1970s Girl Scout uniform

I always wore shorts under my uniform because how else were you supposed to swing on the monkey bars without some little Cro-Magnon laughing about how they could see your underwear?

Did you know that in the old days, the Scouts baked the cookies themselves? Girl Scout HQ gave out a simple cookie recipe and the ingredients came out of the girls’ own kitchens. They estimated that the ingredients cost between .26 and .36 cents for around six dozen cookies. The girls then wrapped up the cookies in waxed paper bags and sold them for .25 cents a dozen. That’s like a 600% profit, right? I don’t know if Girl Scouts have to do a lot of math these days, or if you’re too busy starting a fire by rubbing two Sports Illustrated swimsuit issues together.

I paid $4 each for you, you Thin Mints, Tagalongs, Savannah Smiles, and Do-Si-Dos, and yet have no plans to open you up and eat you. Crazy, right? Cookies are for kids, is how I feel. Does that sound judge-y? Okay, how about this: cookies are for kids and for people who burn a million calories a day and so their bodies can metabolize something with basically no nutritional value. Is that still judge-y? How about this: cookies are a treat! And if I were to treat myself I’d actually prefer to eat a bag of tortilla chips or drink a bottle of Beaujolais than eat a box of cookies. Although, at least you’re still legal to drive after eating a box of cookies. Unless you’ve slipped into a diabetic coma. That happened to my dad! It wasn’t funny at all.

I asked my husband what we should do with four boxes of cookies, and without even thinking he said, “I’ll take them to the job site.” My husband is a general contractor and he works with those aforementioned people who burn a million calories a day. Perfect. No one’s going to drive a forklift through a barn after eating a dozen Do-Si-Dos, I’m pretty sure.

Then Jack noticed an empty plastic bag that had been left on our front door with a note from the Boy Scouts, asking for donations for a local food bank . . .

And that’s how we ended up donating four boxes of Girl Scout cookies to the Boy Scouts.

Next year, if a Girl Scout comes to the door, I’m of a mind to just give a $10.00 donation directly to her troop. I don’t need the philosophical dilemmas these cookies keep creating.

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