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“We are all broken; that’s how the light gets in.”
Once upon a not-so-distant yesterday, nestled within the twists and turns of sobriety’s journey, I, a steadfast navigator of the clear-headed seas, found myself 12 months strong—a year of clarity, resilience, and the steadfast avoidance of any and all vices. Yet, little did I know, an adversary as sweet as it was cunning lay in wait, plotting to test my resolve with a temptation more formidable than any I had encountered before.
The day began like any other, with the sun stretching its golden fingers across the sky, birds serenading the dawn, and the world seemingly in harmony. But then, there it was—a knock at the door, soft yet persistent, the prelude to my unforeseen downfall. There stood before me a squadron of innocence, clad in sashes adorned with badges of honor and smiles as bright as the morning sun—the Girl Scouts.
With a politeness that belied their strategic genius, they unveiled their arsenal. Boxes of Thin Mints, Samoas, Tagalongs—each a masterpiece of confectionery delight, designed to weaken the will of even the most disciplined soul. My mouth watered, my resolve wavered, and in that moment of weakness, I found myself uttering the fateful words, “I’ll take five boxes.”
As the door closed behind my diminutive adversaries, I was left alone with my spoils of war. The first bite was one of rebellion, a sweet descent into the very indulgence I had forsaken. But oh, what a fall it was—into a world where chocolate and mint danced upon my tongue, where coconut and caramel whispered sweet nothings to my senses, and where peanut butter and chocolate in a loving embrace reminded me of the joys of earthly delights.
The night wore on, a blur of laughter and crumbs, a silly symphony of self-indulgence played out in the privacy of my living room. As the dawn approached, with the last cookie crumb consumed and the final sip of milk savored, I sat amidst the remnants of my grand escapade, a grin plastered upon my face.
In the grand scheme of things, my 12-month journey of sobriety had been a testament to my strength, a period of growth and self-discovery. Yet, it was this moment of silliness, of succumbing to the charm of Girl Scout cookies, that reminded me life is to be lived, savored, and sometimes sprinkled with a dash of whimsy.
So, to those who find themselves on the path of self-improvement, remember: it’s not the stumbles that define us but how we choose to laugh, get up, and dust the cookie crumbs off our shirts. After all, life is too short not to indulge in a cookie… or five.
Letter to My Dealer:
Dear Esteemed Purveyors of Temptation,
In the most endearing sense, I must commend you, my dear “dealers,” for your unparalleled skill in the art of cookie distribution. Your approach, so innocent and yet so devastatingly effective, has left me both in awe and in a delightful sugar haze.
Your mastery of the cookie craft is nothing short of genius. With every knock on the door, with every box of Thin Mints, Samoas, and Tagalongs, you’ve proven yourselves to be the Pablo Escobars of the confectionery world. You navigate the neighborhood not with malice, but with smiles and sashes, turning ordinary citizens into cookie-craving fiends with a mere “Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?”
I must confess, your cookies are my kryptonite, my Achilles’ heel, the crack to my Whitney Houston. Each bite sends me spiraling into a blissful oblivion, making me forget my vows of moderation and my once-iron will. You, dear scouts, have turned me into a cookie monster, lurking in the shadows, eagerly awaiting your next visit.
Let it be known that I harbor no ill will for this delightful addiction you’ve bestowed upon me. Instead, I stand in admiration of your entrepreneurial spirit and your uncanny ability to turn flour, sugar, and chocolate into the most irresistible form of “crack.”
As I pen this ode to your prowess, surrounded by the remnants of my latest cookie binge, I offer my thanks. Thank you for the joy, the indulgence, and the moments of weakness that remind me of the simple pleasures in life.
Until our paths cross again, dear dealers, keep peddling your sugary wares with pride. Know that you have a loyal, albeit slightly wider, customer waiting eagerly for your next knock.
With utmost respect and a hint of cookie crumbs on my chin,
Lynn Scheid
