An Over-dramatic Letter to the Scouts

Dear Girl Scouts of America,
            My mom said I could be in one activity while I was a young child. She hates fairs and all things farm-related, so 4-H and FFA were out. So I took dance, but I think she got tired of driving my awkward, chubby, tutu-clad ass twenty miles each way a couple of nights per week. Let’s face it, when I got stuck screaming upside down on the uneven bars in my gymnastics rotation, we all knew I was not the next Shawn Johnson, and it was clearly getting to be a waste of hard-earned crop money.

So, I was not in the Girl Scouts of America. I don’t know who you are, or what you even do the other 11 months out of the year you aren't selling me delicious fatty cookies. All I know is that you are seriously messing up my healthy lifestyle.           

As if your cute, smiling faces weren’t heart-wrenching enough, I usually know a few of your kind and I have to buy from everyone. And I act like it’s a huge chore, even though I visibly salivate all over the order form as I think about Thin Mints and Peanut Butter Patties. And I feel like I am cheating the advancement of girlhood if I abstain. If I don’t buy your cookies, you might grow up to be a third-string talent stripper at the Lumberyard in Des Moines. Or worse, the Playhouse off Interstate 29. Sure, it starts out as a way to pay your college tuition, but 15 years and numerous stretch marks into it; you won’t be fooling anyone, beauty school dropout. It's all going to Pall Mall's, your six kids, and your deadbeat boyfriend Pablo. And I would be to be blame, because I didn’t fund the organization that gave you structure and self esteem.

            In a weak moment a few months ago, I was not caring about life and I ordered some cookies because dammit, girl, you can do better than Pablo. But now, I do care about life. I'm in the middle of a great diet, exercise routine, and have a killer tan. I'm looking decent and feeling pretty good. Then your cookies arrived. This does not help me. And, when my shipment arrived on my desk this week, I was a little surprised. I do not remember ordering six boxes. That's a lot. Guess I was hungry that day. Yeah, that makes sense. Still, six boxes seems excessive, and that just doesn’t sound like me. It really doesn’t, Scout’s honor.

So, I took an inventory. I have two Thin Mints. What an ironic name, because they are my favorite and I inhale these. My ever-tightening pants would disagree with such a name. You should really consider calling them Saddlebag Mints or something. People would probably still buy them. I know I would.

A box of Shout-Outs? What the hell are these? Oh yeah, I think they are lower sugar or something. I think I thought that would even out my motherload of sugary calories.

            Ok…lemmie see, one box of Shortbread. Well the name has the word bread in it so obviously I’m game. A box of Peanut Butter Patties, obviously. And a box of Thanks-a-lot cookies. Well, last night during bowling, I discovered my jeans are starting to rip in the crotch. So, the creepers we were bowling against last night say Thanks-a-lot too.
            Ok, that makes six. I am hiding six boxes of cookies from my husband in the back of my truck, so I can avoid grazing on them in my office or at home. Only I am grazing on them on my way home, and I contemplate driving past my house and going around the block so I have more time alone with my cookie stash.
            This is really a new low, Scouts, so I made an effort and brought them into the house, one box at a time. I snuck them into the pantry so my husband wouldn't notice the large sum. And you don't know this, until you are weary career women yourselves, but your cookies taste great not only with tea, but with both Bud Light and wine!
            But, I feel like my life revolves around eating my way through your delicious collection of cookies, and I seem to have to do it as fast as possible, as if they would go bad in a couple of days. Even though we both know not only would these cookies most likely survive a nuclear attack, but you could probably sell last year’s leftovers without anyone noticing. That is, if you did have leftovers. But, Thanks-a-lot to sugar trolls like myself, you probably don’t have a lot of leftovers.
            But, for all my bitching, I was glad to help your organization. Until a former scout, who shall remain anonymous, told me the troop I bought from only gets pennies per box.
            So, Scouts, this is the part where I say I will write you a check next year, but I’m sure by that time, it will just be a fat check for more cookies.

            Sincerely,
                        The real one to blame