The problem with Girl Scout cookies is that there are no problems with Girl Scout cookies. And that is exactly why every spring, my husband and I end up with approximately one bajilliony boxes. My boss’s daughter comes in, with her little sash, asking if I’d like to buy some? Suuuuuure. Sign me up for some Thin Mints. A neighbor girl proudly goes door to door, introducing herself and asking if you’d like to support her troop? Two Tagalongs, please. I buy all of our groceries on sale or with coupons. I’d never drop $4 on oh-so-delicious Keebler E.L Fudges. But when it comes to Girl Scout cookies, I have no problem forking over twenties of dollars.
When I was a young lass, I was a Girl Scout. And, under no circumstance, would my mom or dad bring my sheet to work. You want to sell some cookies, they’d say, then YOU sell some cookies. There was no pass-the-sheet-around-the-office. I was patrolling the neighborhood and hounding relatives. “You only want one box of Samoas? Nobody WANTS a box of Samoas. You’re going to regret not getting the Thin Mints, too, so I’m just going to put you down for both. Ok? Great!”
I loved selling cookies and could sell them to anyone. Oh, you’re on a diet? Diabetic? Buy them for someone else. Oh, you have sons who are selling wrapping paper at this time? Then you better buy three boxes. They’ll need their energy. Not that you really need to push Girl Scout cookies on anyone, but if there was any hesitation, I did a great job swaying them. (I grew up and never worked a day in sales. I guess I wanted to go out on top.)
The prizes for cookie sales really made it worth it … my small, undeveloped child’s brain thought. But let’s time out to do some math for a hot second. One of my favorite prizes was an art kit. If you grew up in the 90s, you know exactly what kit I’m talking about. 30 markers. 20 crayons (horrible, barely-even-make-a-mark crayons), 20 oil pastels, 20 colored pencils and a rainbow of watercolor paints. I usually averaged 150 boxes of cookies (rockstar, I tell you.) Now, 150 boxes at $2.50 a box (Were they really that cheap? I probably invented that number) = $375. (Guys, you can put away your abacus and rest assured that my math was right, ‘cause I used a calculator.) I raised $375 for my troop and was rewarded with a $10 art kit? Now, that’s some bullshit. I hope the prizes are better (and more proportionately distributed) today.
One of my favorite nine-year-olds recently interrogated me about Girl Scout cookies. She had some valid questions. Why don’t the Girl Scouts make their own cookies? Are the cookies made in some factory by some OTHER over-worked, under-privileged kids? Did the Girl Scouts get to keep all the money? They can’t keep ALL the money, because you need money to buy ingredients and boxes. But how much money to do the Girl Scouts get to keep? What do they do with that money? Why are Thin Mints so delicious?!
And, really, her last question is the whole problem with Girl Scout cookies. Sure, they’re over-priced and the market is saturated with them several times a year and the girls don’t get to keep all the money and the prizes are not very high in value and most moms and dads bring the sheet into work and sell the cookies for them anyways resulting in little life experience gained by the child. But if you put all that aside for a minute, they sure are delicious. And is something being too delicious really that much of a problem?