I just ate two Thin Mint cookies that a lovely little Girl Scout pawned off on us last week (And by pawned, I mean that she charged us real American dollars, and how could I say no? Who says no to cookies?). The reason that I just ate two cookies is simple mathematics: There were only two left. Granted, a box of Thin Mints is a little on the selfish side of the Girl Scouts’ industry, because those boxes really should be heavier with the cookies. I think that a nine-ounce box is more of a sampler, to see if you actually have a taste for the Thin Mints or not. And, once you’ve worked your way through the entire box in just a couple of minutes, then you KNOW that WHY, YES! Yes, I really DO have a taste for chocolate and mint and thin-wafer goodness, all wrapped up in one cookie that I did not have to bake myself, and I’ll take the nine-pound box, please.
Anyway. All I have to say is that someone in our house (Or maybe even a cookie burglar, because who am I to bring accusations against my family members?) has eaten an awful lot of Thin Mints lately, and it wasn’t me. I know this, because I was pretty much certain that I had actually hidden the box quite well in the pantry. As it turns out, when I remembered that OH, SWEET MERCY! WE HAVE THIN MINTS HIDDEN! tonight, I realized that we only had TWO hidden.
The moral of this story is simple: Don’t hide the cookies in this house, because the male people living here can smell them, six feet deep in a pantry, and they will dig them out and eat them. Go ahead and eat the cookies when you first get them from the little Girl Scout, because you won’t get any later.
And, obviously, the Thin Mints don’t fit anywhere into the low-carb diet, but the box is officially dead now, which means they will no longer be a temptation.
Of course, when the cookies WERE a temptation, I had no idea that others before me had been tempted as well, and that they, too, had given in and sinned against the low-carb diet by devouring all but two of the cookies.
And isn’t it amazing that I can spend 381 words talking about cookies? It’s a gift, people.
Anyway and so on and so forth.
I know I didn’t put a post on the blog last night, but the boy was at youth group, and Hubs and Thing 2 and I were at a one-year-old birthday party, for one of Thing 2’s friends, and then we had to pick the boy up from youth group, and then we hung out at the church, chatting forever with Mika and Christy, and then I came home to bathe Thing 2 and prep him for bed, but Theresa called, and we talked on the phone for one hour, nineteen minutes, and seventeen seconds.
(I know, because I checked my phone when we hung up.)
(And listen. I am going to have to go on record and say that Theresa and I are aging, because instead of talking about the latest Bon Jovi song and the merits of cutting bangs versus not cutting bangs, we talked about very grownup things, like breast cancer, washing machines, braces and bicuspids, tax breaks, and thyroid problems.)
(I’m not sure when Theresa and I became so conversationally INTERESTING, but I’m telling you… people want to be us.)
(But in between a debate on IS ORGANIC TOOTHPASTE REALLY WORTH THE DOLLARS?, we did laugh our heads off like two high school girls, and that was a beautiful thing. I love that girl more than I love Thin Mints.)
After nearly an hour and a half on the phone, I was simply too tired to type anything up for the old blog. MeMaw had to recover from all the different hops she made in discussion topics, so I went to bed, where I promptly couldn’t sleep.
That’s the story of my life, I guess.
Anyway, we’ve just been hanging out and going on with business as usual over here at the Jedi Manor, which means that I chase Thing 2 around all day long and collapse in a heap of exhausted goo at the end of the day. Thing 2 has discovered THE GREAT OUTDOORS, and that, people, is the ONLY place that he wants to be. He stands against our glass deck doors and beats on them as he moans, “Why? Why are we inside? I want to be out there, having an adventure and eating a stick!”
So that’s what we do. I throw a baby gate at the top of our deck’s steps, and I leave our dining room doors thrown open wide. Thing 2 is then free to wander back and forth, back and forth, between the great out of doors and the boring house. He loves being in the Deck Playpen. He hollers at our neighbors… he yells at turkeys walking through… he shouts at deer strolling by… he points at airplanes… he munches sticks… he eats leaves… and he is completely, utterly happy.
I blame his Y chromosome.
Carry on, people.