I didn’t mean to. I really, really didn’t. I have nothing against Girl Scouts (now that I’m out of grade school). I think it’s kind of adorable when they actually go door-to-door selling their little cookies – way better than sending a parent in to the office/theater/classroom with a sign-up sheet. And when I could still eat their fiendishly addictive little delights, I did, often with wild abandon….
The problem is that I’ve gotten older, wiser, and (more importantly) intolerant of gluten. I hate being intolerant of anything, but there you go – gluten and I don’t get on, and it’s a week-long reaction process that I really prefer to avoid.
So when waist-high sales reps appear at my door trying to sell me poisonous-goodness, I say a polite no.
Enter the waist-high ragamuffin: timid knock, slightly-large-glasses that magnify her eyes to owl-like proportions, and an order sheet.
She starts her sales pitch by saying nothing, momentarily stunned by the presence of an Unknown Adult. (I feel so old….)
“You’re a Girl Scout, aren’t you?” I prompt.
Cue mute nodding.
“I’m so sorry, hon, but I’m allergic to gluten and you don’t sell anything I can eat. You’re doing a great job, and I think you’ll do great at my neighbor’s.”
“Actually, this was out last house.”
I am suddenly staring at a waist-high, cold-eyed sales executive, willing to go to any lengths to close the deal – including heart-wrenching guilt.
Munchkinoo stomps off my front porch, but not before giving me a look that says, “You’re the one who ran over my puppy last summer.”
Noooooo!!!! I should have bought a box for someone else. I should have paid for a box and told her to tell the neighbor that someone bought then a box. I should have BOUGHT THE STINKING’ COOKIES. I am going to hell. I’m a not-cookies-from-children-horrible-mean-person.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean… I mean, it’s ok, you did great! I mean, I’m so sorry!” I’ve been reduced to sputtering nonsense by a child. To her dad, I ask, “Can you please tell her it’s nothing personal, it’s just, you know, poison? I’m so sorry! I don’t mean to destroy your daughter’s hopes and dreams. I’m so sorry!”
“No, no, it’s ok. I’ll explain it to her. She just doesn’t understand. It’s fine. She’ll be fine.”
This happened literally 27 minutes ago. I’m still traumatized. I don’t know why I didn’t think of a better solution while the situation was in my face. I could buy the gosh darned cookies for someone else and give them as a gift, but here’s the thing: I WANT TO EAT THE COOKIES. I freakin’ love a Thin Mint (current winner of the Most Misleading Name Ever – they do not keep you thin, but they’re delicious frozen), and Samoas…. oh, the Samoas….. I WANT a Samoa. (Is there a singular on that? I’ve never eaten but one of those fiendishly amazing little bundles of crunchy-sticky-is-that-really-chocolate joy. Diabetic coma with toasted coconut? Don’t mind if I do…)
My point here is, not gonna buy ’em, because I’m not sure I can resist ’em. Those little buggers have ruined many the diet for me, and I’m currently on a diet where I don’t get the occasional “day off” or “oops!” because, like, poison. Like, hard-to-breath, heart-pounding, instant-migraine, intense-joint-pain fading to a week of arthritis with constipation, major water retention (you’d think those two would cancel, but no), and foggy-brain-what-did-you-just-say badness.
Dear Girl Scouts of America,
Either consider an allergy friendly cookie choice (ideally made in a dedicated area), or give your little waist-high sales people tools. Form a charity. Give them the ability to look me in the eye (or shoe, as the case may be) and say, “I’m so sorry! Would you like to donate a box of cookies to a children’s shelter/hospital in your area?”
Do something, so they don’t look at me like I just killed a puppy. Please. I’m begging you.
I know, it was my choice to not buy the cookies and I should be prepared to live with the results of that choice. But I didn’t choose my allergens. Please, have the grace to give me an easy out, rather than making feel like I’m not only a freak who can’t eat the yummy goodness, but also the cold-hearted miser who won’t support a child learning Valuable Life Skills(tm).
Missa wants a cookie…. :( Darn sales urchins….