Girl Scout Cookies

Forget the plethora of housewife-cottage industries.  Forget signing up to become the newest Tupperware, MaryKay, Avon, Southern Living At Home, or Ginsu Knife Home Distributor Champion.  Just stash those dreams of selling one million cases of gummy vita-bears and winning the trip to Hawaii for the annual Happy Life Vitamin Conference.  You’re dreaming up the wrong home based business tree.  There’s an institution out there that has us all beat.  Unless you’re in with them, you’ll always remain a corporate infant.

If you want to run with the true powerhouses of the world, look no further than the Girl Scouts.  Put down that box of Thin Mints and think about it. How many grocery stores will let you set up a rickety card table outside their doors and sell, cash only, cases of sippy cups?  That’s right, none. But say “no” to a crew of sash wearing cookie-selling cadets?  Never. Especially when they’re chaperoned by The Cookie Mother.

The Cookie Mother is a highly coveted role, no matter how much your mom recounts Troop 335 horror stories, circa 1972.  This is a secret requirement of all Cookie Mothers—Never act like you really love this role. Competition is stiff, and you’ll risk someone else’s suburban garage becoming the Regional Cookie Warehouse.  And the Brink’s driver will have to learn a new address.

This morning at the bus stop, a week after our regular cookie orders were delivered and annihilated, our resident Cookie Mother announced,  “I’ve got 14 extra cases of cookies in my garage if anyone’s interested!” She needs to ask?  All the Bus Stop Mommies sucked in their coffee breath and widened their eyes: wordless BSM Code for, “But I already ate the last three boxes all by myself.  In my sacred, Secret Summer Vacation Hiding Spot.  And we’re only weeks away from bathing suit weather.”

At that moment I had three major revelations: 

One:  None of us were going to weaken in front of the others.  If we bought extra cookies, we’d do so in the dark of night, waking the Cookie Mother by throwing rocks at her window.

Two:  The Girl Scouts are part of some master evil plan to test the strength and character of housewives by delivering cookie orders halfway through Lent, when most of us have given up sweets.

Three:  Giving up sweets during Lent conveniently coincides with pre-spring break-beach-trip diets of desperation.  The Girl Scouts and their evil cookies are out to sabotage us physically and spiritually. Or they’re in cahoots with Weight Watchers.

Trying to explain all this to the Cookie Mother is useless.  “Just put them in your garage freezer and pull them out after Lent and Spring Break,” she reasons.  Like I could sleep knowing they’re out there taunting, “Just one little Thin Mint won’t stick to your thighs…come on, you know you want us...”

No, I will be strong.  I will persevere.  I will…go find a rock and set my alarm for 2 a.m.

Karen Rinehart is the creator of The Bus Stop Mommies^TM, a syndicated newspaper and magazine humor columnist, public speaker, and author of the book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life. Karen has been dubbed this generation’s Erma Bombeck while Editor & Publisher Magazine named her a possible replacement for Dave Barry. Karen lives in Concord, NC with one husband, two children, and two goofball dogs.

Read more at www.busstopmommies.com