Here it is. March.
Early March.
The days are getting longer.
The sun’s hanging around a little later.
There’s that one guy wearing shorts when it’s still 42 degrees.
Yes, that’s me.
Stupid groundhog.
You already know how I feel about that furry little meteorologist from Punxsutawney. Don’t get me started.
Because while everyone else is celebrating “spring is coming,” I’m standing in the pantry conducting inventory like we’re in the final days before the apocalypse.
And I realize…
It’s time to ration.
No more casual stroll-bys where you just grab a sleeve like you’re royalty.
No more “I’ll just have two.”
No.
These are now to be carefully issued. Logged. Documented. Witnessed.
Because once they’re gone—
They’re gone.
GONE.
And cookie withdrawal?
Oh, it’s real.
Those cute faces. Those sweet smiles.
Standing behind that folding table outside the grocery store like tiny drug dealers.
“Six dollars, sir.”
Six-dollar increments of joy.
DANG IT.
Mid to late March… where will they be?
When I’m standing in the kitchen at 2:00am, pantry door open, refrigerator light humming, milk in hand—
Where. Will. They. Be?
Does Girl Scout Cookie Rehab have a facility?
Is there a 12-step program?
“Hi, my name is Jim… and it’s been three days since my last Thin Mint.”
Because they cut you off cold.
SNAP.
VICIOUS.
Just like that.
Cookie season is over.
OVER.
DONE.
NO MORE.
And here I am.
Definitely showing early symptoms of withdrawal.
I’ve got milk ready.
Milk still safely within the expiration window.
And for what?
They lead you on.
They build the relationship.
They earn your trust.
And just when they know they’ve got you—
BAM.
No more cookies for you.
I cannot be the only one.
It’s not possible.
I can still taste the lemon in those lemon cookies.
HOW is it both sour and sweet?
That deliciousness in a circular disc.
Who approved that sorcery?
We’ve all done it.
We’ve all been there.
Standing there staring at the empty shelf where the cookies used to live.
Maybe one fell back behind the crackers.
Maybe there’s a rogue sleeve hiding near the cereal.
You see a flash of yellow plastic—
HOPE.
YES. I FOUND SOME!!!
DANG IT.
Stupid Lay’s.
I don’t need chips.
I need cookies.
I think I have the shakes.
Yes.
Yes, I do have the withdrawal shakes.
I can picture them now.
Laughing.
Laughing with a fistful of my dollars.
Probably at their Girl Scout party making it rain.
There HAS to be a 1-800 number.
Cookie Addiction Hotline.
Press 1 if you’re out of Samoas.
Press 2 if you’re down to crumbs.
Press 3 if you’re just calling to hear someone whisper, “Thin Mints.”
And if it doesn’t exist?
It needs to.
Maybe that’s my calling.
National Girl Scout Cookie Addiction Hotline.
When you’ve been wronged … you take action.
My Take on Life and Events 