The Girl Scouts Always Ring Twice

Here’s a cautionary tale for your evening.

This afternoon, while I shopped for overpriced organic food at Earthfare, my older daughter, E, called me on the phone. This was indicative of something being catastrophically wrong. Teenagers do not call unless they have broken hearts or fender benders. I knew she was at home, still half-dressed (or half-undressed, depending on your worldview), so it couldn’t be the car accident. Chances were pretty good it wasn’t the heart ache either because she has yet to let any boy get close enough to have an emotion. I answered the phone, and she was squawking about girls and cookies and something about the stairs and no pants. I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying, but either way, it didn’t sound good. I interrupted her to make sure whatever it was could wait until I checked out and got home. She hung up on me, which meant it could.

When I pulled my car in the garage, my younger daughter, S, met me at the door.  She looked excited.

S: Girl Scout cookies are here!

Me: Those little girls delivered them today? Cool! Who paid for them?

About a month ago, a couple of neighborhood girls actually went door to door selling Girl Scout cookies instead of having their parents just take the order form to the office. They were so cute and sincere and naïve, so I purchased two boxes, Peanut Butter Patties, which were better when they were called Tag-Alongs, and Thin Mints, because the law requires a minimum of one box per order. Today appeared to be delivery day.

S: I did. You owe me 8 bucks.
Me: I don’t have any money right now. Thank you though.
S:  That’s cool. I’ll get it from Dad. Did E tell you what happened?
Me: Well, she called me, but I couldn’t understand what she said. It sounded like she was crying.
S: She may have been. They rang the doorbell, and I answered it and took the cookies in the kitchen. I had one in my mouth when I went back to the door with my money.
Me: Which flavor?
S: Thin Mint.
Me: Sweet.
S: I gave them the money and closed the door. E heard me pay for the cookies, so she ran downstairs…
Me: Did she fall? No wonder she called me crying. E! E! Are you okay?

I screamed this last part at the top of my lungs so she could hear me from the garage doorway.

S: No, worse.

E, screaming: What do you want?
Me: How worse?
S: You know how she never got dressed today?
Me: Yeah.
S: So she’s still in a t-shirt and underwear. And when she ran downstairs to get at the cookies, the Girl Scouts rang the doorbell again. With their parents. I must have given them a dollar too much, and they came back to return it and say thank you. When I opened the door, E was in the middle of the stairs in her hot pink panties.

I’m sorry but I kind of felt that detail was necessary, not so much that you needed the visual, but more so that you could understand what that unsuspecting family saw through the open door. That almost adult child of mine buys her own underwear now because she doesn’t want me to have any input on her choices. I do not have veto power when it isn’t my money. I am not saying she needs to stick to the six pack of Hanes in original granny pant white, but damn, girl, no one even sees those strips of flimsy cloth. When my husband folds the laundry, he doesn’t know if he should have an erection or a heart attack.

Me: So what did E do? I’m guessing she didn’t fall down the stairs, as I had originally assumed.
S: She stood there like a possum, paralyzed with fear. It was awesome.

I started dinner, and E sauntered into the kitchen, still wearing a t-shirt and underwear. She went to the pantry and grabbed a Girl Scout cookie out of the open package.

Me: Have you learned nothing today?

E, with a cookie in her mouth: mumble mumble

And…scene. The takeaway here is that you should always have pants at the ready during Girl Scout cookie season. You never know when innocent children will arrive at your doorstep with cookies and possibly a couple of parents. Don’t scar them for life.