Well, yesterday we picked them up. All 231 boxes of them. My industrious Junior Girl Scout immediately set to work, with the help of her six-year-old sister, putting together the individual orders in bags of all sizes. She carefully marked each bag with its future owner's name and the total amount due for the cookies since, of course, Girl Scouts don't collect any money until the boxes are being handed over.
All very well and good; I cannot fault her for being on top of things right away.
My house, however, groans a different tune. I realized when I looked round the corner from the kitchen where I was making dinner that my living and dining rooms have become The Cookie Depot. There is a motley assortment of bags and boxes all over the floor, as far as the eyes can see or the feet can trip. Now, this would not ordinarily be a problem, but it so happens that tomorrow evening we are having friends over for dinner, and the next day will see another friend coming to spend some time after having been away for quite a while. And the soonest we can really begin to distribute the cookies is, of course, the day after the second visit. Sigh.
What can I say? Nothing, really. My scout sold more than any other girl in her 20-girl troop. We applauded her for a successful cookie season. We want her to feel proud of the job she has done, and to complain about the spread of carbohydrate happiness at this point would only seem to negate a portion of all that praise. So, we'll step around cookies, help her collect and keep track of her funds, and say nothing much. It will mostly be over and done by Monday anyway.
But oh, the timing of it all. I'm sure our friends will understand.
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