Revenge of the Girl Scout Cookies

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Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the kitchen, they’re baaaaaack. It’s the Girl Scout cookies. There’s a whole gang of them hanging out on our kitchen counter this week, just waiting for some poor unsuspecting schmuck to walk by and fall in love with them – again.

It’s not that I don’t like the cookies. Quite the opposite. The problem is that I really like the cookies. And when I really like the cookies, the cookies decide they really like my thighs and want to set up camp there as extra body fat. And that makes me not like the cookies nearly as much anymore. It’s a love hate thing. It gets messy.

Ironically, the sinister cookies were delivered here by the sweetest little blonde-headed Girl Scout you’ve ever seen. She was like a little merit badge-wearing angel. She handed me four boxes of cookies, and I handed her a check. Then she skipped back down the sidewalk, turning to wave goodbye and say thank you. I waved back at her, shut the door and that’s when the cookie showdown began.

I’ve been trying to keep a safe distance from them, but I swear I can hear those cookies whispering all the way up the stairs. It’s the Trefoils that call to me trefoil cookiesmost. Some people think the unassuming Trefoils are the most boring of all the Girl Scout cookie varieties, but I couldn’t disagree more. While it’s true that the Trefoils are a simple shortbread cookie, what they lack in color and texture, they more than make up for in pure sugary goodness.

They’re not as showy as the Samoas or as multi-layered as the Thin Mints, but they have an undeniable charm that can only be appreciated by a true cookie purist. The only problem with the Trefoils is how easy it is to rip through half a sleeve of those babies before you even realize it. They go down so easily with a glass of cold milk that it’s easy to lose count. (Your thighs and the bathroom scale, however, never lose count, and therein lies the problem.)

At least I’m not alone in this cookie conundrum. If Tom hadn’t left town for a few days on a business trip, I can almost guarantee that the box of Samoas would already be ancient history. He has to go to a different zip code to avoid scarfing down those coconut confections.

And our cookie-loving 10-year-old is coping with a pretty serious Thin Mint addiction right now. Every time I see him lately, he has traces of chocolate in the corners of his mouth along with minty fresh breath that didn’t come from mouthwash.

The only box of cookies that hasn’t been cracked open yet is a new variety called Rah-Rah Raisin. The description says it’s a “hearty oatmeal cookie made with whole grain oats and packed with plump raisins and Greek yogurt-flavored chunks.” The somewhat healthy sounding description is probably the only thing that has saved this box from the kids. But once they’ve torn through all the Thin Mints and their cookie craving ramps back up again, the Rah-Rah Raisins will have to make a rah-rah run for it if they have any hope of surviving the week.

The good news is that, at the rate we’re going, the Girl Scout cookie invasion won’t last long. By this time next week, the cookies will have been vanquished and their flattened boxes will be at the bottom of the recycling bin. The Samoas, Thin Mints, Rah-Rah Raisins and my beloved Trefoils will all be a distant memory. Now… if only my thighs would forget them, too.

gwen headshot 2014Gwen Rockwood is a mom to three great kids, wife to one cool guy, a newspaper columnist and co-owner of To read previously published installments of The Rockwood Files, click here. To check out Gwen’s book, “Reporting Live from the Laundry Pile: The Rockwood Files Collection,” click HERE.

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