On Girl Scout Cookies & Other Resolution Busters...

Just when you think you’ve conquered the most stressful time of the year, suddenly it’s January and the pressure is on to reevaluate, assess the passing year’s damage and brace yourself to take on the overwhelming task of fixing all that’s wrong with your life. Lucky for me, my resolution making usually requires little more effort than grabbing last year’s resolution file and changing the date at the top of the page to the current year. I was reminded of this excruciating, self-loathing ritual when a dear friend said she’d just come from her daughter’s Daisy Scouts meeting where they’d had a lengthy discussion about Girl Scout Cookies.

Brilliant marketing ploy by the way, Girl Scouts - cute AND peddling the most addictive cookies in the world. When? Oh yes, in February when it’s early enough that we’re all still vulnerable to slip-ups and yet late enough that we can convince ourselves we’ve given the “getting in shape” line item a healthy shot. I know, it’s tax deductible. I’m assuming I’ll also be able to deduct the personal trainer and higher club level gym membership I’ll have to buy just to work off that box of thin mints.

Of course my big resolutions almost always include lose weight, save money, stop swearing, drink less wine, eat more vegetables and re-introduce myself to the other adult in the house. And when I use the term “adult” that’s just me trying to start the year off right for resolution number eight: “Be nicer to my husband.” But seriously – how is anyone supposed to stick to a resolution strategy when we live in a culture commodious with temptation?

Saving money becomes impossible when everyone you know has something to support– marathons for good causes, team sports, schools, dance troupes – you name it. In fact, the other day a neighborhood kid came by the house selling raffle tickets, trying to raise money for his baseball team. Having been one of those kids peddling support back in the day myself, I always feel compelled to pay up in tribute to all those nice people who found it in their hearts to do the same for me, so I reached for my wallet and asked what it was they were raffling. He proudly pulled out a brightly colored picture embellished with stars surrounding the big prize: a pump action Remington shotgun. A shotgun? Really? I think we can all agree that a shotgun is the last thing I want hanging around when I break all my resolutions.

The first public tantrum of the year Cameron brings me will take care of my “no more swearing” attempt. Of course my favorite, most cathartic expletives will find their way into the closest pillow I’ll find to scream them into or when I find the car keys, politely excuse myself and lock myself in the car until I’ve screamed so long I can’t talk, but it will still count. And let’s face it, giving up wine when you’ve been married for more than fourteen years and have two kids under the age of seven, well, that’s just cruel.

But don’t you worry Girl Scouts of America – I love what you do and I love your damn cookies so I’ll restrain my old twitch as I write the check and invite those salacious plastic towers inside my house. But for the record, your cutesy ironic little names are not lost on me. “Tagalongs” should really be “Can’t believe these Girl Scout cookies have been tagging along my thighs since February.” And Do-Si-Dos should be changed to: “I’m going to have to Do-Si-Do my buns off if I eat these.” Thin Mints: well, that’s just too easy. My favorite, however, is the company’s “Thanks-a-lots.” So that’s it: “Yo, Girl Scouts, thanks a lot for sabotaging my New Years Resolution diet in less than a month!” I think I’ll find my fat pants, waddle down to the liquor store and pick-up a pack of Slims.