Someone in Bookdwarf’s cabal has given us several boxes of Girl Scout Cookies. This is a disaster for freedom, by which I mean my nutritional peace of mind.
This blow against my rock-hard abs is somewhat mitigated by adequate information about the farming practices used by the chocolate farmers whose chocolates go into their cookies and of course delicious special recipes made with those cookies.
But still, that half box (OK, quarter-box, as of this afternoon) of Thin Mints on top of the fridge is posing a dangerous threat, and must be destroyed. A targeted strike force is at the ready, and I anticipate that the destruction will be delicious.
Secretly Ironic 
Samoas. Samoas, Samoas, Samoas. Thank the gods that no one loves me enough to gift me with a box of these; otherwise, it’ll be like the awkward moment when Sarah and Ben gave me a slab of fresh albacore as a joke and stood around dumbfounded, watching me eat it like a starved cat.
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i got roped into buying a box of thin mints by a sadist posing as a small adorable child. i ate half the box within a half hour, felt extremely ill, then took about a month to finish off the second half of the box due to fear of said illness. i’ll most likely repeat this next year.
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Oh, Samoas, you little vixens, you (though, actually, they’re called Caramel Delites now; whatevah). I ate a whole box of them last week, and I have the caramel-chocolate-coconut crumbs in my bed to prove it. And another box waiting in my pantry… Damn those coworkers with small female children!
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