Sunday, January 29, 2006

Fear Fatter

Sometimes, I fear little girls. Yes, cute, bright-eyed little girls. It’s a seasonal thing, going on right now, which is why I’m in here writing on a beautiful day when I could be outside working on my winter tan like most normal Southern Californians. I close the blinds, put on my security-blanket sweatshirt, and huddle over the pc, shivering. Move along, please, nothing to see here. Maybe if I stay very still and quiet, they won’t notice me.

But they come anyway, wave upon wave of them. They know my ruse. They’ve seen it many times before. We all know it doesn’t work, that eventually I’ll give in like all the others. They relish the thrill of the chase, the gradual wearing down of the hunted.

Hide the cholesterol, it’s Girl Scout Cookie Season. Like uniformed, pigtailed lemmings to the sea they swarm, surging over each other to fatten both suburbia and the Grand Poobah Girl Scout’s wallet.

They ding-dong my doorbell, invade my grocery store, and blink bright-eyed outside my church. "Oh, you already bought some?" their little faces start to melt. "That’s ok," their voices fade as they choke back a tear or two while they quietly bestow a pixie curse on your head. So evil, so knowing, so successful. How can you not buy from them?

"Already have the peanut butter ones? Have you tried the Thin Mints? We also have low-fat!" Do I look like I need low-fat? Girls can be so cruel.

Other organizations have the presence of mind to offer kinder and gentler promotions. Boy Scouts hit me up to buy popcorn every year, but hey, it’s in the fall and I can regift it at Christmas. Our school wants us to buy wrapping paper (with which to wrap the regifted popcorn), and I must say the wrapping paper doesn’t pack on the pounds. But here come the Girl Scouts in January, as we mourn our fattened credit card statements, and give up the ghost on our New Year’s resolutions. Those little chunky delights are there to help us drown our sorrows in Shortbread.

They’re good, but they’re not perfect. Think how much more money they’d make if they sold their ‘sucker’ list to a company like Weight Watchers. First the Scouts hit up the unsuspecting victim for a few boxes, then, when she’s finished scarfing down the last of them, prone on the couch and wearing sweatpants, they sic Jennie Craig on her.

Some day, little girl, you, too, will be old. Your doorbell will ring, and you’ll try to hide, but some spunky package of perkyness will get you, my pretty…and your little dogma, too.

4 comments:

Zoodle said...

OMG. They got you too!! I have the mom's sneak attacking me at work. So far I've managed to keep it down to 2 boxes but...I can't hold them back much longer.

El said...

Hi!

Has attack of shy and *zips* out! :)

ScottMGS said...

El? Shy? That must not be the *real* El.

Clay, aka WriterDude said...

*snork* at Annie.

My defense at the supermarket for years has been, "I'm sorry ladies, but my niece was/is (intentional obfuscating mumble there) a Scout and I'm already up to my scalp in Samoas. Gotta keep it in the family. Better luck with the next guy!"

I say this with a sincere smile, and I pretend not to hear when they ask what troop she's in. Because for all I know, the two weeks my now 15-year-old niece spent in 1999 as a Girl Scout was with F-Troop and Larry Storch was their leader. But the "being up to my scalp in Samoas" thing is still true, because Lester/Mrs.WriterDude leaves her resistance at home every Cookie Season.

I'm just saying that it works for me. And this year, it'll work even better, as I'll stiff the little demons -- urm, treat the little ladies kindly just as I have been -- but now I can cross the parking lot right over to Papa Murphy's and have the same niece sell me a stuffed Chicago-style take-and-bake at half price. It's a nice little family discount we enjoy.

Oh, wait -- was the goal fat/calorie avoidance, or just avoiding doe-eyed extortion? Either way, count on the guy who married into an Italian family to choose pizza over cookies every time. And I still get to hand the cash over to my niece. So there.