Two weeks ago on a Saturday, it was super cold. It was also the day I staged a major laundry offensive. One of my new tricks for gathering the soiled clothing from various rooms in the house is sending the kids to retrieve it then telling them they can throw it down the stairs. It's a blizzard of dirty underwear and pants flying through the air. Needless to say, it makes the landing (which is right next to the front door) quite littered.
When the pile was at its max, someone rang the doorbell. I waded through the mess and pulled open the door to find a bundled up mom and daughter. They offered to sell me Girl Scout cookies. While I was thrilled the cookies finally found their way to our house, I was shocked at the dedication of the vendors. It was about 15 degrees out and windy. As they stood in the snow on my front step, I wondered if I should invite them in. Then I thought of their snowy boots standing on top of our underwear on top of my hardwood floors. I left them outside to make their sales pitch.
I told them to give me two boxes of the Caramel DeLites (formerly Samoas) and two Thin Mints. When the young lady pulled out the ex-Samoas, I was pleased with the instant service. But then her mom told me they did not have any more Thin Mints in the bag, instead they would bring them to us on Monday. I asked if I should pay now for the ex-Samoas; she said not to worry about it, I could pay for all of them on Monday. I made some lame comment about cookies on credit while I added my name and address to her order sheet, right under Grandma C's. Sometime during the exchange Marina came to stand next to me wearing her leotard (over sweatpants), dragging a pile of clothes under her feet.
After they left, I went directly to write a check for $16 and left it on the kitchen counter so I could be prepared for the return of the cookies.
All the next day I wondered aloud why the die-hard, weather-braving Girl Scout couldn't deliver my cookies on a Sunday.
After work Monday I kept watch even after dark (if she can come out in the snow, why not the dark?). Nothing.
Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. On and on... neither the Girl Scout nor my Thin Mints ever made an appearance. I have no idea where this girl lives. We aren't the kind of people to get to know our neighbors, if she is indeed from the neighborhood.
I thought that she maybe she was waiting for another Saturday. Nope. Maybe her shipment of Thin Mints was held up by some striking UPS delivery man.
Two days ago, I came downstairs to find a purple scrap on the counter. Mark had opened up the ex-Samoas. I immediately scolded him for eating cookies that are not yet paid for. They have been sitting on top of the refrigerator. My conscience will not allow me to eat them. Obviously Mark has no problem with this kind of thing.
Now I have to relate to you a different shocking story. Last week, right after I got home from work, Mark told me to look in the garbage can. He found something right by our driveway on his way in from getting the mail. It seems the 40 mph wind gusts that day had blown some Vegas street smut all the way to our house. He quickly disposed of it before one of our kids saw it.
Now, these may two completely unrelated stories. Or it may be as Mark hypothesizes: What if the Girl Scout and her mother came back to our house only to find a nudey flyer sitting next to the walkway to our door? They may have decided to cut their ex-Samoa losses and high-tail it out of there, taking our Thin Mints with them as they fled.
While I find this all to be rather implausible, the lingering doubt remains. Where is the Girl Scout? Where are my Thin Mints? And why are all the neighbors giving us dirty looks?
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