"doing a line" of thin mints
Every year, I tell myself…I won’t buy them this time. This time I’ll walk right by the little crack peddlers with their cute little uniforms and their sad little faces, and I won’t buy a single box of those unimaginably addictive cookies. And every year, I end up searching the internet for a twelve step program for Girl Scout cookie addicts.
This year will be no exception.
Not only did I fail to avoid them…I sought them out. Went looking for them. Driving around town, cash in hand, hoping to score a box or two.
My grown son was in the car with me when I saw the first group of Girl Scouts, standing in front of the grocery store, waving a sign. And thank goodness for that sign, otherwise I might not have seen them from the road. The familiar tingle hit me right away, and I think I let out an evil laugh.
My son looked at me funny, asking me, “Did you drive all the way here just for Girl Scout cookies?”
“Of course not,” I lied, the money burning a hole in my pocket as I searched for the closest parking spot. “I came for…milk…no eggs…no…” I couldn’t think of a single thing I needed from the grocery store. “Yes…I came for the cookies.”
He shook his head. “That’s just sad.”
And he was right. It was sad. I only had enough cash for five boxes.
After a tense couple of minutes in line where the stack of thin mints was dangerously depleted, I loaded up my five boxes (four boxes of thin mints and a box of samoas to keep the kid from talking) and headed back home to toss them in the freezer.
But not before opening a tube.
I shoved the first cookie into my mouth with an audible groan and the resulting tingle ran all the way to my toes.
“Can I have one?” my son asked, but I pointed to the box of samoas.
“I bought you cookies…stay away from mine,” I growled, dragging the clear plastic wrapper until it was out of his reach, like a wild dog.
“You need help,” he said, shaking his head.
And he was right. I needed help stashing my cookies where no one would find them. The freezer was public domain. The whole house has access. I had to think of something quick.
I parked the car in the driveway and tucked the cookies under my arms to run into the house. I pulled open the freezer, digging around for the perfect hiding place.
I stashed two boxes under the frozen vegetables, another under a package of fish. The last places anyone would search for cookies, I was sure. The forth box (or what was left of it after I savaged the first tube on the ride home) went with me into the bedroom where I hid it under my decorating magazines. The one place I knew my husband would never look.
Then I settled in for the night.
I can feel my fingers twitch every time I think about the dwindling cookies near my bed. I reach over, telling myself I’ll just have one. But one leads to another, and another, until I’ve done a whole line of thin mints without even realizing it. I’m afraid I might even sneak off to the freezer for another tube in the middle of the night.
I’ve entertained the idea of taking up drinking just to kick the cookie habit…but I honestly don’t like liquor that much. Unless they come up with a thin mint drink…in which case I might need to go to rehab for real.
Until the next time…I’ll be “doing a line” of thin mints!