TELL YOUR MOM I WOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY TO PAY HER, HAD THE RIMJOB BEEN OF HIGHER QUALITY

Sunday, March 27, 2005

Some Damn Good Cookies

I was just mentioning this to a reader in an email, and thought I would share it with all of you:

Yesterday I went down to the supermarket yesterday afternoon to purchase some alcohol, chips, and some sausage so I could have my own private gastronomical Easter Party. I was delighted to see that it was Girl Scout Cookie season. Despite having business practices only marginally more ethical then the Mafia, I dearly love Girl Scout Cookies. They had a folding table manned in front of the market by two Girl Scouts and a grim-looking old Scout Master in a frumpy sweatshirt, who, and I am not trying to be offensive or outrageous or too topical, was almost a dead ringer for Terri Shavo. I passed by and saw the two Scouts playing some kinda fuckaround game while the Master was otherwise distracted trying to look as grim and uninviting as possible. Anyway, after my purchases inside, bottles clanging in the plastic bag, I went up to the Girl Scout cookie stand and asked one of the little Girl Scouts for a box of Thin Mints. I wanted to buy another variety of Cookie, so I asked the Scout (whose name was Rachel) what she would recommend as a second box. Rachel was a cute little thing, older then a toddler, well under ten. She was able to stand still, which is something a have rarely seen a child do successfully. She did math really well for a little kid, and she was still half engaged in said fuckaround game behind the back of the Master, which, wasn't some plea for attention like kids normally engage in, but was some actual fun activity she was successfully doing behind Shavo's back. If you are going to talk in detail with a little kid, it might as well be about cookies, something that myself and this child both had an active interest in. So yeah, we had a pretty frank and detailed discussion about it, we both came to the conclusion that Thin Mints are where it's at. The Lemon 'Low Fat' bars are strictly a dispatch from Disphit town. Tagalongs (with the coconut) take it up the ass, which I didn't mention verbally but her opinion was rendered by a very convincing nose wrinkle coupled with a cringe. They didn't have any 'Iced Berry Patties', which apparently Rachel had sampled before. 'How were they?' was answered with a 'They are just okay' and a shrug. I came to a deadlock regarding my second box of cookies: Peanut Butter Bars are no slouch, nor are Peanut Butter Patties. I asked her which she preferred. She responded, and was exactly right, that Peanut Butter Patties are better, because they have chocolate, whereas Peanut Butter Bars do not. My hat's off to Rachel, so I bought a box of Thin Mints (which I have yet to open), and a box of Peanut Butter Patties, which I have already consumed and left me feeling sick, although they were excellent.

But, for the first time I can remember, interacting with a child didn't result in disgust, or irritation, or and urge to strange the child in front of it's parent. Deep in the reptilian part of my brain, unsolicited, involuntarily, I began to feel the first pangs of paternalism, surfacing in a 'having a kid might not be the end of the world' cloud that I couldn't repress or shake. Not that I am going to go to an adoption agency or actively look for a mate to inseminate (although interested parties are invited to write), but not feeling horror at the though of a child is a new one for me. I said goodbye to Rachel, who smiled and waved and said 'Goodbye Mister', and the Scoutmaster shot me a glance that made me hope whatever she was wishing happened to me never occurred. I guess it's all part of aging, I turned 31 this month, and the evidence of my brain shifting it's focus from getting as drunk as possible and doing my best to avoid all forms of responsibility is rearing it's ugly head in my interaction with children. Or maybe Rachel just caught me a good mood, when I had cookies on the brain.

Even though I think it's a load of shit, have a Happy Easter, readers. Even you people that are fortunate enough not to be raised Christian.

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