CRAP!!  I have a body fat percentage hovering just under the Santa-level after a Thanksgiving and Christmas season filled with glutoney and sloth (I am looking at knocking the 5 other ones off as well…).  I am working semi-hard at the gym to rid myself of my marine-mammal worthy blubber, but that got shot in the foot yesterday with the arrival of my first six boxes of Girl Scout Cookies.  Jenny Craig here I come…  So far, I have purchased six boxes from a guy,s kid at work, my wife picked up four boxes from one of her employees, and we have four more on the way from a 12-year old family member.  Fourteen boxes of yummy, baked, CRACK!

Fourteen boxes is a bunch all by itself, but when you add the frozen cookie dough that I just bought from another coworker’s kid, the three chocolate bars I was wrestled into purchasing from the 12-year old Girl Scout’s sister, and the 5-10 boxes that I will get pressured into buying outside of my local grocery store, my future begins to become clear: I am going to turn into a fvckin’ Weeble Wooble…

Stepping up on my soapbox now: The little girls that stand with their mom outside Safeway are velociraptors!  Evidenced by the fact that they hunt their quarry in packs, are relentless, and unflinching:  They huddle as a would-be victim steps out of a car, then all break rank before their unwitting mark nears.   One, the cutest and most doe-eyed of the pack, will step right in front of you with a box in her small, outstretched hands and ask you to “Please” buy some of their crack.  While one fumbles with the “No Thank you, I am trying to be good” answer, two of her “sisters” move in from opposing oblique angles and simultaneously cut off a possible escape and present you with another box of baked love-handles to be.  You will end up walking around the store with a minimum of two boxes in your cart, getting the sad also-violated nod from the other addicts who have fallen for their Late Cretaceous Period-inspired snack-trap.

Stepping off my soapbox and returning to my box of Samoas…