Friday, March 19, 2010

Gettin' my Samoa on

I hated my brief stint with the Girl Scouts of America, thanks to a sadistic troop leader, and because of that, it would be easy for me to ban their products from my home. I have banned and boycotted products and businesses for less than what I endured at the hands of Mrs. Wad and a few misguided, yet cruel, fifth graders. However, I am a big fan of cookies in general, and it is my sincere belief that the Girl Scouts might be enriching the lives of most of its participants, somewhere.

So, in the decades since the unfortunate scout meetings in my grade school cafeteria, and more importantly, that seemingly never-ending overnight at Camp Sacajawea, I have dutifully ordered cookies when it's that time of year. It's been harder since I left corporate America, as I no longer have coworkers who peddle them for their daughters, or neighbors who go door-to-door. In fact, I have not seen a single scout in my neighborhood, and am pretty sure there are none here in all of East Trenton. So, these days, we get our cookies through Glen's coworkers; I've had a hankering for some Samoas (aka Caramel deLites), and have come this close to getting my grubby little hands on some, but alas, my efforts are continually thwarted. I love the Tagalong as well; after all, what's not to love about peanut butter and chocolate piled on a buttery cookie? Glen brings home these, and I am not disappointed, but I still would love a Samoa. A lot.

The Glorious Samoa.
I've been thinking about them so much that I've been scouring the web for a good Samoa recipe, and think I tracked one down. However, I am not the most ambitious baker, and Samoas are pretty involved, so I haven't attempted them yet. One of my friends made them, though, and she said they were wonderful. If you bake, give them a try, and let me know how it goes!

My sister Karen's friend, Gary, has a daughter in the scouting organization, and he asked Karen recently if she'd like to buy any cookies. Karen was with me when he called, so she asked me if I wanted any. Finally! The Samoas were in the light at the end of the tunnel.

Did I mention that Gary lives in Lincoln, Nebraska?

Gary was planning to send me some old school Electric Company DVDs, along with some stuff for Karen, so he said it wouldn't be a big deal to send along some Samoas, as well.

Karen received the package last week, and the cookies were completely smashed. The DVDs were just fine. If something had to smash, I'm glad it was the cookies, and not the DVDs, but still, my heart sank.

In the meantime, my sister-in-law Brenda came to visit, and she brought along a fantastic pile of Canadian Olympiana, including several of the much sought after pom-pon toques.

Brenda had a small cache of Olympic goods for Karen as well, and in return, Karen had a gift for Brenda. Brenda and I were summoned to Karen's place of work yesterday to pick up Brenda's gift, along with the Electric Company DVDs from Gary. I had it in my head that I would be getting my Samoas, too, even though they were smashed, since smashed cookies are still very much edible. It could be lack of sleep, or just that as I age, I grow more simple-minded, but I could not stop thinking about the cookies, and I kept talking about them, too. I was holding a very squirmy Matthew so he could not race through Karen's fancy and tightly-packed boutique, while I simultaneously tried to jam the DVDs into my gigantic sweatshirt pocket. So, when Karen handed Brenda a cookie-sized package with a Lincoln, NE postmark, retaped with painters tape, it never, for a second, occurred to me that it might be Brenda's gift. I thought Karen was handing Brenda my Samoas, since my hands were full. My girls are so helpful!

I could smell the cookies. I really could. And, I could not wait to tear into that package the second we got back into the car, and babbled incessantly about it. Sorry about that.

We got back into the car, and I strapped my boy into his seat, and Brenda started the car. She put the car in gear. I was confused. My cookies were in the door pocket of the car, unopened. The car began moving, and Brenda's hand did not reach down for the cookies. We pulled out of our parking spot, and it occurred to me that for all of my obvious hints about how much I was looking forward to eating some Samoas, I would not be eating them any time soon, unless I spoke up for myself.

"Hey! What the??" I bellowed at Brenda. "Open up that package of cookies!"

"What?" she said, utterly befuddled.

"The damn cookies! In the door pocket. Karen gave them to you."

"They're not cookies!"

"Yes they are! I can smell them!" I really could.

"It's the gift from Karen, you dummy!"

I didn't, couldn't, believe this, and forced Brenda open the package anyway, even though — I realize now — she probably wanted to wait until we at least got back to my place. Sorry about that, too. Brenda opened the package, and in it was a fancy little gift box, way too insultingly small to hold my cookies.

"Oh! She shouldn't have!" Brenda said, taken aback by the pretty little bracelet in the small gift box.

True, I thought. She should have given me my damn cookies. I was mean with hunger for Samoas.

It was a lovely bracelet, though.

If anyone knows of anyone selling Girl Scout cookies, can you order me some Samoas?

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