Who among us can resist the angelic face of a Girl Scout with cookies to sell? At least the first 20 of them, anyway?
Certainly not Mrs. Kunilou. Even though she’s on a strict exercise and diet regime that excludes cookies, she can always be counted on for at least a box of Thin Mints.
And so it was two weekends ago when a poor little waif in her uniform showed up at our door. Even though the big cookie push had been earlier, Mrs. Kunilou ordered yet more cookies.
We were somewhat surprised when the girl returned with the cookies last weekend. All the other Scouts said we’d get the cookies in March. We opened the Trefoils. They were stale. Even by the low standards we’re willing to give GS cookies, they were stale - rock hard, bang-on-the-table stale. Even the twins wouldn’t eat them.
Mrs. Kunilou suspected the innocent young thing at our door was dumping last year’s cookies. She sent a polite e-mail to the local GS Council. Then all hell broke loose.
We’ve gotten apologetic calls from the Council. The cookie police called, wanting to know the name of the girl, her troop, the lot number on the box of cookies, whether we paid by cash or check, how stale the cookies were on a scale of 1-10 and so on. E-mails have been flying. DNA samples have been collected from the cookies. Soon, there will be a knock on some little girl’s door in the middle of the night.
Finally I asked Mrs. Kunilou if this wasn’t something of an overreaction for a $3 box of cookies, especially since we could dunk them in milk. She looked at me with her sternest tough-teacher face.
“I was a Girl Scout troop leader. I was a cookie chair. I was a cookie mom. I know how Girl Scout cookies are sold AND DAMMIT, THERE ARE PROCEDURES!”