So the phone rings. Caller ID gives an unfamiliar name. I pick it up.

Me: Hello?

Girl (pre-teen, I would guess): Hi, I’m with the girl scouts and we’re selling cookies and we have mint thins and chocolate and (rattles off list of cookie varieties)

Me: Thanks, but sorry, I’m not interested–

Girl: You want mint, then? Okay, we’ll come by your house. *click*

Me: …

I cannot shake the feeling this is some variety of scam, somehow, although what they may hope to gain has me baffled. Perhaps this is some demented scout version of “freaking out the mundanes.” (If so, the scouts have changed significantly since I was a Brownie…) If a girl scout does show up on my doorstep, for their sake, I hope they wait until the PMS has broken, or they’re getting a lecture on the legality of cold calling in addition to not selling any cookies.

James is convinced we’re about to see a Normandy-style Girl Scout invasion on the porch. I suspect I’ll be the one answering the door for the next week.

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