Girl Scouts = Vendors of Death

I've decided that really the grim reaper doesn't wear a black cape and carry that sycthe thing. Instead, she (yes, turns out 'ole death is really a female) comes knocking on the door dressed in green. Perhaps she is camouflaged in street clothes, but no doubt there is at least a green vest or sash present. And perhaps this vest or sash is covered in badges which only serve to even more lull you into a sense of safety and comfort. ("Hey, I got my CPR badge. Surely I'm not here to hasten your death with artery clogging goodness.") To make matters worse, she is commonly under 4' tall and has a smile filled with cherubic innocence. And, good God, she might even have pigtails.

As for that sycthe, well you know what it actually is: a cookie order form. Tagalongs. Samoas. Thin Mints. Do-Si-Dos. You pick, sir. There all so delicious, mam, are you sure you don't want one more box. There's no trans-fats. (You know the look on that little face when she says this, don't you. If you don't, call your favorite third grader and get her bend the truth for you. Then you'll know.)

You know, I can deal with an organization dedicated to teaching girls how to sew or even change a flat tire. But, sending these little ones out with the equivilent of cookie crack is just wrong! There are so many things wrong with this seemingly innocent enterprise. First, these cookies are offered once a year. We're Americans, for God's sake. We're known for hoarding on a good day. (Seriously, where else could the Red Cross have sold disaster kits with duct tape in them. You know, just in case. And, um, have you been in a Costco lately?) Throw in the fact that an item is a limited commodity and we're screwed. It goes against our nature as Americans to buy a mere one box and to slowly enjoy it. No! There must be several (50+) boxes bought and they must all be inhaled in one sitting. This leads me to problem number two: these cookies are addictive. The problem, linked to the above, is our fear that they will disappear. Because, in fact, they do. Buy now or your screwed until next year. And if we know they disappear annually, who's to say they won't vanish from our pantries RIGHT NOW!?!?!?!? Thus, the binging.

And, this, my friends, is where the agents of death come in. So, you have just put a box of Samoas down your hatch, right? Well the inevitable comes next. You are suddenly aware of your stomach and the fact that it is not, in fact, made of elastic. And then, for some of us, you become aware of the baby growing near your stomach, a baby that has further reduced the stomach's pliability. And then you realize that girl scouts are devils. (And this is true without even discussing the fact that while your stomach is reeling, your arteries are becoming the biological equivialent of granite. Like brand new granite. Not wussy, old granite that has been worn down with the passing of age. Nope, this is some seriously hard stuff.)

I'm quite sure this isn't what Juliette Gordon Low had in mind all those years ago in Savannah, GA.