Dear Girl Scout,
I have you figured out!
You dress in your adorable uniform, you approach me with your smiling toothless grin, and you know.
Yes, you know very well that I will be unable to resist your little girl charms. I will inevitably buy a box or seven, just because you are cute. Forget about the fact that the Thin Mints are delish, and the Samoas taste di-vine crumbled up on vanilla ice cream. When you approach me with that box of cookies, and ask for my help, I will be transported back to when I was a girl scout (before I quit because they wouldn't let me tent camp like the boys). I will remember how hard it was for me to approach an adult and hock my baked goods. And when that memory comes rushing back, I am a goner.
And you know it.
You can smell the sale like a dog can smell fear.
I am but a victim in your entrepreneurial endeavors, and frankly, I may as well just set up a direct deposit into your cookie bank account.
I am that much of a lock.
So, please forgive me if I advert my eyes from your eager gaze. And, please don't take offense when I close the curtains and hide in the dark as you ring my bell. I am doing it for my own good.
And while you may not thank me for it, my ass will.
A drop out scout,