It's a Box!

Yay! The doorbell rang & I got a box!

I really love those, ya know.

Let's check out today's box, shall we.

No layers of wrapping or distractions of fluff here. A single layer of newspaper is folded back to reveal...


Is it?

Could it be?

My sister, PJ has unwittingly fed my addiction. She sent:

CookieHenge

I'm shocked. She should know that there is more than just love when it comes to girl scout cookies. (I have an addiction, as chronicled here). I'm not sure she realizes that I have this addiction, but I have realized that addiction is something to discuss with your family, not hide.

She was strong this time. She sent the cookies away. She knew that had she allowed the cookies in her house again, she would not be able to resist their sirens call. Yes, she confessed to me what transpired with her first order of girl scout cookies (She has a niece who is a girl scout as well as the daughter of her best friend. She is required by the laws of friendship & aunthood to order cookies from these girls). What tragedy could have occurred that PJ would not even allow girl scout cookies in her house?

Her confession began, "I can't even look at them, I picked up the order and drove straight to the shipping place to send them away again"

"Why, dear sister, whatever happened to cause this distress?" I inquired sweetly, concerned.

"The first order came in. It started innocently enough, Maggie & Don don't like Samoas, so they gave me their boxes. After the initial shock that someone could actually not like a Girl Scout Cookie, I began to feel bad for the poor little cookies. " Her narrative began slow, thoughtful.
"The girls looked so hopeful on the box. I couldn't let them down, so I opened the box to have one. I just wanted them to feel better. Then one led to another," she took a deep breath here, and the words came tumbling out, "before I knew it, I had to hide the box. Not just from myself, I was too embarrassed by the number of cookies I had consumed to let anyone else know that they even came into the house.
"I hid them, and I waited. I slept fitfully, knowing they were down there--taunting me. The next day, when my husband was at work & the kids were in school, I attacked. I couldn't let them get to me anymore. So I finished them off."
I think a little sob escaped at this point, but she strongly continued her story. "First it was the Samoas, then the Tag-A-Longs, I ate them 2 at a time. Finally, well, the poor Thin Mints didn't stand a chance. After I licked the plastic container & had the last shred of coconut from the Samoas, I knew what I had to do." She took a deep breath, I could hear her smile.
"I destroyed the evidence. No one will ever know those cookies came into this house. I sent you the second order of cookies. I knew you would know what to do with them. I can't allow them in my house again! At least, not until next year..."

At this point I realized that the addiction, like an alcohol addiction, is probably genetic to a certain degree. I look back, and finally I understand why my mother wanted to be the leader of the brownie troop. It wasn't for the girls. It was for the cookies.

I was alone when I received the cookies. I held them close, and sniffed their aroma. Then I hid them away. The Tag-A-Longs went behind the purple rice, that I bought for a special occasion. The Samoas, buried deep beneath the large pile of canned tomatoes. And the Thin Mints, well, I'll just say they went into the deep freeze.

I fought the urge, to ravage those boxes. I too was home alone with those innocent looking delicacies. The ambrosia in a box. So far, I have been strong. But I know, well I know that umm excuse me. I'll finish this post later. I have to go defrost my freezer...