Cookie Monster

Law enforcement officials say that a pair of roommates argued and deputies say that it turned physical when one woman began chasing to other with scissors and hitting her repeatedly with a board and then a sign. What's the big deal? Things like this happen every day, right? Especially around Girl Scout Cookie time. Thirty-one-year-old Hersha Howard woke up her roommate early last Sunday and accused her of eating her Thin Mints. That's when all the commotion started.

It started much earlier than last Sunday for me. I have never threatened anyone physically over purloined wafers of delight, but there was a time when such a thing was possible. This was back in the days when I was on high alert from the last week of January through mid-March for any and all opportunities to purchase Girl Scout cookies, or more to the point: Thin Mints. There came a point when I was in college that I surrendered to the notion that the secret ingredient was heroin, and I would do whatever was necessary to get my fix. The fresh-faced little pushers would try and interest me in other varieties: Do-Si-Dos, Trefoils, Samoas. But they didn't work that angle long. They could tell by the glint in my eye that I was after one thing and one thing only. I wanted the ones in the Kelly green boxes and when I was done I wanted more. There is only one serving size for me. When the box is open, the only thing that slows me down is the plastic sleeves that politely suggest that you eat half. Back in the day, there wasn't much hesitation before the second tube of minty goodness disappeared as well.

There used to be a little girl next door who was at first perplexed when I insisted on buying a case of Thin Mints. "You mean a box, don't you?"

"No. I want a box full of boxes. I don't want to have to go looking for you later."

She gave me a worried little smile, and I noted that when she came back, she brought her mother. Just in case things got a little weird. Instead, her mother made careful note of our address and came back the following year with the expectation that her daughter would probably get her cookie badge by just knocking on my door.

And ten one year, I just stopped. Not cold turkey, mind you. I still enjoy a dozen or two thin mints once a year or so, but I don't seek them out like I used to. It is no longer a requirement. I would not chase anyone around with scissors if they ate mine. Not anymore, anyway.