Answering the door can be a risky proposition in my neighborhood,
especially during Girl Scout Cookie selling season.
There I was, writing on deadline again, when the doorbell
rang. Peeking through the window blinds, I spotted a tiny towhead on the front
porch. Dressed in her Brownie uniform and holding a clipboard, little Katie
Cooper was hard to resist. I hit “save” on my story and went to answer the door.
“Wanna buy some Girl Scout cookies?” Katie chirped. I
glanced at the silver Saturn, parked in my driveway, just as Marva Cooper waved
to me.
“Sure,” I replied. “How much for a box of Thin Mints?”
“Umm. Thin Mints are $35 a box,” Katie answered with a
straight face.
“Gee,” I said. “Somebody’s making a mint here!”
Still, I signed my name on little Katie’s clipboard to order two boxes (Hey, they’re small!) and
sent her off on her merry Brownie way.
I could almost taste those crunchy wafers, drowned in cool
chocolate mintiness. Heaven in a box.
Six long weeks
passed, with no sign of Katie or her costly cookies.
In the meantime, I tried to stave off my chocolate mint
cravings with mint chip ice cream, mint chocolate kisses, and after-dinnermints. But nothing seemed to satisfy.
Daily, I peeked through the blinds, looking for the Coopers’
silver sedan. I sat at my desk with writer’s block, probably induced by Thin
Mint deprivation.
Finally, I could stand it no longer. I left my home for a
quick trip to the grocery store, reentering the real world. Our pantry was
bare. Surely, no cookie was worth hibernation and family nutritional
deprivation.
I was gone for less than two hours. Returning home, I
unloaded the brown paper grocery bags in the kitchen. As I unwrapped a bag of
apples by the sink, I noticed that the spare change jar on the counter was
open, and the level of coinage had dropped significantly.
Restocking the pantry shelves, I discovered an empty cookie
box in the cupboard. Crestfallen, I read the label.
You guessed it. Thin Mints!
Both cellophane sleeves were gone. The box contained nothing
but a sweet chocolate minty aroma.
I began gathering and interrogating the usual suspects.
“Who ate the Thin Mints?” I asked. No one
answered.
"Where's the second box?" Still no answer.
"Where's the second box?" Still no answer.
That evening, as my family members were otherwise occupied,
I began doing a little domestic reconnaissance. Under one child’s bed, I
discovered a suspicious empty cellophane wrapper and some minty crumbs.
A bit later, while picking up towels in the bathroom, I
found a rolled sleeve of Thin Mints, still unopened. It was wedged under a
wadded tissue behind the commode, and the cat was trying to release it.
Of course, we had to toss the entire stack of Thin Mints. It
was tragic!
Finally, the truth was told.
Apparently, while I was at the food market, Katie Cooper had
made her long-awaited cookie drop. The kids had paid her, all in coins from the
change jar. They split the box, secreting one sleeve of cookies for later. The
cat had found the secret stash and rolled it across the upstairs hallway and
into the bathroom.
The Oreos I’d picked up at the store that day didn’t hold
the same appeal.
Images:
Girl Scout Thin Mint Cookies
Product promotion photo / fair use
