I married Cookie Monster. John bought 18 boxes of girl scout cookies. There are only 2 humans living within the walls of this house, and one of us gave up sweets for forty days and forty nights.
But 18 boxes? They line the pantry shelf like best-selling hardback novels. And much like a new Stephen King novel, you can’t lay it down, obsessively think about it until you get to the very end – of the fat book or the fattening box. Even when you know there can never be a happy ending. You lie awake at night. You may as well get a glass of warm milk.
The boxes stare at me each time I open the cabinet to reach for brown rice or coffee. The spine of the boxes summarize the girl scout story promoting “Courage Confidence Character”. What about Calories? Like the beating tell-tale heart, the boxes whisper in the wee hours as I sleep-walk by to let the schnauzers out. The moment John heads off to work with boxes and boxes of cookies for all, another shipment turns up at the door. How many more has he ordered? There are lots of girl scouts in our neighborhood.
I am planning to whip up a fluffy creamy strawberry Trifle-y dessert thingy for Easter brunch with crumbled girl scout Trefoil cookies layered inside. And chocolatey thin minty brownies for the Cookie Monster tonight. It could be worse – I could be married to Oscar the Grouch.
Cookie Monster, “C is for Cookie”
Archies, “Sugar, Sugar”
“But we can climb the ladder and take the box down from the shelf and cut the string and open the box.” Toad, Frog and Toad Together