That Place In Hell for People Who Bounce Checks to Girl Scout Troops

And for $7, no less.*

Yesterday, Friendly Neighborhood Girl Scout of Troop Eleventy-Something showed up at the door. And for every reason except the crucial one, which is “I am broke as $#!+ right now,” I bought a box of thin mints, and then — because writing a $3.50 check seemed somehow more absurd than writing one for $7 (I know, right?) — I bought a box of non-thin mints, because Friendly Neighborhood Girl Scout’s supply of said cookies was depleted.

“Um, a box of those ones, I guess,” I said, pointing to one of the glossy photos on the much-creased pledge sheet. The ones with coconut, I think.

I don’t particularly like girl scout cookies, BUT…

My Mom was a Girl Scout, back in the day; I’ve seen her uniform and it is absolutely adorable, the sort of immaculately detailed outfit that I imagine a pampered only child might put on her American Girl doll 1:3 scale surrogate sibling.**

There are some 550 households in the neighborhood, according to TLNA…but there weren’t even five names on that sheet of paper, and that made me sad.

I’ve never been a joiner, tho’ I confess I’m intrigued by people who are, from a psychological standpoint. Moreover, I feel that such people deserve some reward for putting up with what’s probably a bunch of arbitrary rules and nonsense.

I kind of felt the need to prove to this polite, well-groomed tween that despite my disheveled hair and the fact that I was sporting half-jammies*** at 3 in the afternoon, I was not drunk or anything like that.

*Fear not, I did some emergency online banking last night; Troop Eleventy-Something should be just fine.
**Also, Mom managed to earn ALL the science badges, like chemistry and biology, and NONE of the homemaker ones, like cooking and sewing. I am so proud of Li’l Cathy.
***This is when you start to put on clothes, get distracted halfway through by one of your dependents, and then somehow never quite get back to it. My own fierce and fabulous ensemble was the t-shirt I slept in, my worn purple hoodie that’s held together with the tres chic giant safety pin (which, I hope, disguises the fact that I’m bra-less but maybe doesn’t) and a pair of bright pink exercise shorts. Also one slipper, because the Boxhound hid its mate.


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