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From: "Jack C. Lipton" <cupasoup@pele.cx>
Subject: {ASSM} Girl Scouts Selling... Books? (GSN)
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Date: Thu, 28 Apr 2005 05:10:02 -0400
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Author: Jack C Lipton <cupasoup@softhome.net>
Title: Girl Scouts selling... Books?
Part: 
Universe: GSN
Summary: 
Keywords: 
Revision: $Revision: 1.1 $
Archive: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/CupaSoup/www/
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RCS: $Id: gssb.x,v 1.1 2005/04/28 01:58:48 jcl Exp $



		Girl Scouts Selling... Books?

		      by Jack C Lipton


I've smartened up over the years;  therapy helped with my
self-esteem issues and so I was getting better at feeling
like a worth-while human being.

Heck, I'd even smartened up enough to keep a Thesaurus in
the front room of the house.  It bothered me, though, that
such a small dinosaur with a wonderful vocabulary was really
willing to live in my house.

Ah, well, he (or was it a she?) was happy enough even though
he wasn't very much good at "vernacular".

So I'm out shopping one day and spy...  did I *really* see
them?

Girl Scouts!  At the entrance to the big Publix Supermarket!

I rubbed my palms together in glee, a maniacal laugh pouring
from me as I then counted the money in my pocket.

An aside, here.  I'm a southpaw.  Left-handed.  Right handed
people look at us weird because driving directions from them
sound like gibberish... and they can't understand our way of 
describing driving directions any better.

Darn, I meant to tell you that southpaws are "patterning"
folks;  we like *patterns*.  When it comes to cash in our
pockets, we sort it and arrange it so that it's all in a
nice orderly stack.  OK, so we're not like Adrian Monk, but
I think you get a rough idea.

So we sort our money and line the bills so they all face the
same way...

Beats me how much I had.  I didn't *count* it.  So I had to
pull into a parking space so I could count it.

Hmmmmmm... at approximately $3.00 per box, I could afford
a shitload of cookie boxes.

A shitload?  Well, you know, those cookies are high in
fiber, aren't they?  Especially the Samoas?  What I think of
as the single most addictive form of cookie?

(Yes, I'm weird.  I also consider "White Mountain Bread"
from the Publix Bakery worthy of listing as a Controlled
Substance, just like the garlic knots from my favorite
pizzeria up in New Port Richey.)

(Cue the "Jaws" music as I stalk up on the entrance to the
store.)  I didn't want them to run away before I could clean
out their inventory of Samoas, when...

Damn.  No cookies.  Instead they have these books in plain
brown wrappers.

Oh, wait, these aren't plain brown wrappers, they have some
drawing of brownies on them.  I look through the collection.

I pick up one with a Girl Scout on the wrapper and ask what
it is.

"Oh, that's a book of stories involving Girl Scouts.  What
bugs us is that we're not allowed to read any of these
books."

The matronly woman standing next to the girl who answered
"Not until you've sold all you can, girls!"

The little girl had tears in her eyes.  "But those will be
sold out!  Both the books and the CDs are selling fast!"

I could tell the truth of this;  I was a slow customer and I
saw one stack with a logo of a flame-spitting flying turtle
sell out as I stood there and pondered.  I hadn't been all
that interested in the turtle given where many of the flames
were coming from, of course.

I looked around, saw one with ice skates on the cover.  It
was pretty thick, so I grabbed the last copy before it could
evaporate.  It was amazing how many women were swooping in
and snatching copies, throwing money at the girls.

I spied another one with a submarine on it, looking like a
pleasant set of naval (though spelt "navel" here) stories.

There were others stacked up;  I grabbed another one with
two fighter planes on the wrapper, too, and peeled off the
bills for the books I'd grabbed.

The surprise when I unwrapped them was rather great.

The surprise the next day when I found a girl scout at my
front door asking me if she could borrow the Collected Girl
Scout stories so she'd have a chance to read them.  I'd only
skimmed the stories in that book and so I let her sit on my
front stoop to read it.

In hindsight it probably would have been better if I'd read
the whole thing before letting her hold it.  I damn near got
raped by a pre-teen girl when she finished the book and rang
the doorbell again;  it was only the distraction of my
thesaurus that saved my virtue.  She headed home.  I worried
that she'd be back.

By the time I finished the skating story I was ready to jump
the next woman who showed up on my doorstep.

Wouldn't you know it?  The matronly woman was at my door the
next day.

I *like* mature women.  Mature women who know what they want
and are willing to tell me how I can give it to them are
even *more* likable.

And a vivacious woman who liked the police uniform she kept
under her Girl Scout leader uniform and dressed to look
matronly as camouflage jumped me.  But good.

This time I told the thesaurus to vamoose, amscray, vacate,
avoid...

The problem?

I was soon providing a reading room for all these little
girls.  And Sherry made sure I taught them well about what
they were reading.  I can't explain the kinds of tongue
exercises I have to do daily just to keep it from falling
off.

My thesaurus hides and avoids discovery these days, ever
since one story was coded "best".

It's hard to explain to children (and some adults!) that
"best" in this context was not a value judgement.

                       - Fini -

-- 
Jack C Lipton | cupasoup at pele dot cx | http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/CupaSoup/www/
 "Those who cling to religion can't acknowledge dissent because it's a
  breath of doubt.  Those who do not doubt themselves are more dangerous
  (and less empathic) than those who can." -me

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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