Resolutions, shmesolutions. It’s Girl Scout Cookie time.

Who doesn’t love Samoas with that chocolate and caramel mix? You have not lived until you’ve dunked Trefoils in cocoa or chased a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a Tagalong or two. The Crown and a sleeve of Thin Mints? That is a fantastic evening. Low on breakfast food? Crumble some Do-si-dos in a bowl of milk and call it cereal.

I will admit it:  when it comes to Girl Scout Cookies, I am an easy mark. I am happy to plunk down six bucks for a box of fourteen gluten-free Toffee-tastics.

But even I have my limit. The neighborhood crazy lady has her line. And it is this:  I will not buy cookies from anybody’s mom. That’s right. I will purchase them out of wagons towed by girls wearing sashes. I will buy boxes off of folding tables from kids shivering outside of Rite Aid. I will say Yes, please to entrepreneurial little beanies at my daughter’s basketball game.

But if I am purchasing Peanut Butter Patties out of the back of a minivan, someone’s kid better be the one counting out my change.

Which is irksome, I know. Cookie season may be magical for the rest of us, but it is a slog for scout families. Someone has to sort those boxes and accompany kids to early morning sales. Many troops have quotas to meet. I get why parents advertise, why they take to social media to boost their daughters’ digital cookie platforms. But shouldn’t little Laura at least write a thank-you note when Dad’s friends buy those Rah-Rah Raisins over Twitter?

Because as much as I am a GSC aficionado, I am also grown up enough to realize that the cookies themselves are ridiculous. We all know to cut back on pasta, potatoes, and Juju Fruits. These days, a grown woman can hardly order a hamburger without a side of matcha and chia seeds. But nobody gives me the evil eye when I open a box of Savannah Smiles. It’s for a good cause. 

What that cause is, I confess, I am not entirely sure. I never was a scout myself. As a kid, I thought piano lessons were cooler. My oldest daughter made it through only a single season as a Daisy Scout. She marched in a couple parades, earned her roller skating patch, and learned to make trail mix during a mock campout at the softball field. We bailed when we discovered there was little, if any, actual scouting involved.

But when it comes to cookie sales, I am told the girls are not just scouts, but emissaries. These transactions promote self-confidence, worldliness, and a healthy spirit of competition. Parents: you already possess these traits. But our girls could use the practice. If they want to win the cookie sales piggy bank or key chain or the journal and pen, they will probably need to answer questions about nut allergies and dairy. They might even summon some courage and knock on neighbors’ doors. Though I am never able to help with this part, it is probably even good for them to be told No, thank you from time to time, to practice dealing with life’s little disappointments. But Mom, if you flog fifty boxes after Pilates class, the whole child self-actualization model crumbles like, well . . . a cookie.

So kiddos, if you set up outside the taco stand or drag your duffle bag to the swim meet on Tuesday, you can put me down for one box of Samoas and one box of Tagalongs. But if Dad is with you, have him catch up on Candy Crush, or tell Mom to flip through a magazine. Because I will buy over-priced, chemical-laden, nonsensically delicious cookies from you. But I won’t buy them from your parents.

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