We have been inundated. There are almost 400 boxes of Girl Scout cookies occupying an entire couch here, just begging to be distributed while my butt begs to plant itself on said couch. To those of you waiting for your shot of sugary goodness, please be patient. I’m getting there.
I picked them up late last week, but we had other things to do and occupy ourselves with, and last night was just a lost cause, because life has continued to laugh in my general direction by keeping Patrick busy with his role on the stage crew of his school play. And yes, we encouraged him to “get involved.” This is officially the last time I encourage him in anything, because you need to be careful what you wish for…
So tonight, I had every intention of starting the cookie distribution task. But there are two major obstacles standing in my way: first, I lack bags to put the cookies into once they’re separated by customer. And second, I’m just exhausted, and don’t really want to have to sort through untold piles of cookies, matching with the order sheets, and ultimately packaging for distribution. So I’ll grab the requisite large handful of Cub plastic grocery bags tomorrow morning and be done with that phase. Thus, it gets put off until tomorrow. Sorry again for making you wait.
Besides, it’s not like your waistline really cares when it gets to expand. It just knows it’s time is coming.
The girls should be able to help a bit tomorrow, pending homework. And I’ll skip karate for two reasons: Patrick won’t be going, because tomorrow night will be the only night of the week he’ll have at home with nothing else going on, and he’s got stuff to catch up on; and the stupid cat stance can wait. I figure the Japanese have been doing it for a thousand years or more, so they can just wait on one more gullible American trying to learn the stupid thing. I still really think they secretly laugh at us when they see us do it. It’s like the wooden block shoes, tatami mats and kimonos: sure, they look good, and quaint, and traditional to the outside world, but when it comes right down to it, they change into jeans and a t-shirt when they get home, too.
This cookie selling thing is the real downside to having Girl Scouts–sure, on the one hand, it’s like living with a drug dealer: you know where you can easily get your fix–but with easy access comes the difficulty of figuring out how to get rid of the stuff when you need to. Not to say you all are cops, but you get the picture. Though just having to do this for two girls gives me a huge appreciation for the cookie dad in their troop who has to do the same thing for a dozen or so girls. I’d probably just breakdown midway through the process, babbling something about seeing Do-Si-Dos in my nightmares.
So, again, apologies to those expecting their fix. We’ve run into…um…problems getting our product out.
See you tomorrow.