Consumed by Cookies

Much to my annoyance, it is Girl Scout cookie season again. Yeah, I love their cookies, but addicts love meth, and that doesn't make scoring it a joyous occasion. Girl Scout cookies are a seasonal epidemic like the flu: everyone succumbs to it. With the flu, however, people actively attempt to ward it off but with Girl Scout cookies, people pay for the privilege of losing their willpower.

On the same day I received a free hug, the Girl Scouts were parading the streets hocking their cookies. I could resist these cookies even less than I could resist a free hug. Two boxes is sufficient, I told myself. But you want three, a conflicting voice urged. I sided with the three boxes argument before another voice chimed in for four.

Two days later, I stopped at the bank and the Girl Scouts were there, too. I had just taken out money, so how could I not buy a box? In spite of my intentions, when I actually asked for a box, I somehow managed to say "two," meaning that altogether I had five boxes of Girl Scout cookies. All of them were Tagalongs. I happen to like many varieties, but since I find myself dreaming about Tagalongs in the off-season, I find it difficult to justify buying any of the other kinds.

Two days after that, our nice neighbor Chloe dropped by to sell some cookies. I did not need any more cookies, but how could I say no to Chloe? Fortunately, she didn't have Tagalongs, so I bought a box of Thin Mints out of obligation. My total was now six boxes. They're multiplying!

Even if I were able to successfully resist the urge to buy them, I still couldn't escape. At work, a coworker offers me a cookie. At the bar, Rico offers us multiple cookies. At Margarita Monday, Laura brings cookies. At my friends' house, they leave cookies out for guests. It's overwhelming just being anywhere this time of year. And yet when I go home, it's even worse... At this point, our household has nearly twenty boxes of Girl Scout cookies. Convince me that that's not a problem. While I trust myself to at least ration my collection for months to come, my housemates are eating their shares in a more timely manner. There's at least two open boxes left out on the countertop at any given time. And they call to me. Even when I don't answer, my roommates are friendly enough to hand me one without me even asking.

We may consume the cookies, but more accurately the cookies consume us. I am not exaggerating when I say that during Girl Scout cookie season half my conversations are about the cookies, and half my meals are replaced with these cookies. I came to this realization while sitting on the couch with Katy and Michael Michael. For a couple of hours we had eaten a few varieties of cookies instead of dinner and though our conversation diverged many times, it kept coming back to the central topic of cookies. Once Girl Scout cookie season concludes, I vow to make my life a little more active/exciting/healthy again.

P.S. Boycott Samoas. On the back of the box (see the box on the left in the picture above) it features an inappropriate homoerotic photo of a firefighter spraying a group of smiling girl scouts with a hose. It's both a waste of water and over-sexualized. If anyone can get me a better picture of the box (because, come on, we know you have some) I will reward you with a cookie treat. A bonus cookie treat to anyone who also sends along a description of what the photo does to your loins.