I wish there had been a Fluorine in my neighborhood. Anything to break the monotony of door-to-door disaster and disappointment.
Who’s Fluorine, you ask? And what is this disaster and disappointment of which you speak?
To answer those questions, you’ll need to hop over here and read Jennifer Lee’s post on The High Calling today. Go ahead. I’ll wait.
Welcome back. So, they plan to sell 1,000 boxes each. Heart-warming, isn’t it? Wholesome youth dreaming big dreams and setting their sights on the stars. (Or rather on an Apple iPod Touch, which is almost the same thing.) Here’s a photo of the dynamic duo Jennifer posted on her personal blog:
Such adorable little over-achieving cookie pushers! They’re actually wearing their mom’s old Girl Scout uniforms in this shot, a marketing strategy they used to open the hearts and wallets of sentimental fellow church members in their rural Iowa town last Sunday. It’s all so quaint and nostalgic and would be utterly charming, except . . . well, sometimes I love the memories prompted by other people’s stories, but this time . . .
I’ll let you be the judge. Here’s what I wrote in my comment on Jennifer’s post:
I was not a very good Girl Scout. No. Let me rephrase that. I was a horrible Girl Scout. Most of the things we did landed way outside my comfort zone. The few badges I earned were in categories like “art” (big surprise there) and they were safety-pinned, not sewed on. On camping trips my bedroll always fell apart during the hike, blankets dragging in the dirt. Why couldn’t I just bring my sleeping bag? No, it had to be a hand-tied bedroll, all McGuyver-like. Once we finally made it to the camp site, I’d dump that mess in a heap and attempt to pitch my tent. The other girls smiled and chatted as their tents seemed to pitch themselves into symmetrical perfection, but mine ended up a crookedy mess.
But my least favorite part of all was cookie sales. I always procrastinated, and by the time I lugged my red wagon load of colorful boxes through the neighborhood, every response was the same. “We already bought from someone else.” Ugghh.
I suppose it was to my mom’s credit that she made me trudge door to door anyway, because I’m sure she knew she’d ultimately have to buy the one case I was required to sell.
So, yeah. Thanks for dredging up my past failures, Jennifer. To quote Miracle Max, why don’t you just give me a nice paper cut and pour lemon juice in it?
Kidding, of course. (About the paper cut, anyway. The rest is all too true.) Your girls are adorable. LOVE the photo of them in your old uniforms. Not sure if those are victory signs, peace signs, bunny ears, or a combo, but their smiles and enthusiasm are infectious. I wish them all the best in their efforts, and more than anything, I’m just glad it’s not me.
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After reading the comment, Jennifer and Ann Kroeker both encouraged me to share this story with you, so there you go. And speaking of encouragement, if you aren’t a member of The High Calling community yet, you should check it out. Lovely people. Excellent articles. More than enough encouragement to go around, and a safe place to dredge up all sorts of memories. Kind of like Girl Scout cookies. There’s something for everyone. And you don’t even have to knock on doors. Hope to see you there!