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From: "Jack C. Lipton" <cupasoup@pele.cx>
Subject: {ASSM} RV: Girl Scouts Selling... Books? (GSN)
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Date: Thu, 28 Apr 2005 15:10:03 -0400
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Author: Jack C Lipton <cupasoup@softhome.net>
Title: Girl Scouts selling... Books?
Part: 
Universe: GSN
Summary: 
Keywords: 
Revision: $Revision: 1.2 $
Archive: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/CupaSoup/www/
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RCS: $Id: gssb.x,v 1.2 2005/04/28 14:22:40 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 don't *count* it when I *sort*
it,  So I had to pull into a parking space so I could count
it.

Well, I'd've wanted to park anyway to get cookies.  I was
pretty strung out since I'd finished the last of the boxes
I'd kept in my deep freezer.

Hmmmmmm... at approximately $3.00 per box, I could afford
a shitload of cookie boxes.  My freezer would be full again!

A shitload?  Well, you know, those cookies are high in
fiber, right?  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 stacked up on their table.  And there were
even extra tables, too.

Oh, wait, these books aren't just in plain brown wrappers,
they have some drawing of Brownies on them.  I look through
the collection.  Just like with cookies, there were multiple
stacks, all with brown wrappers that had logos stamped on
them.

I pick up one with a Girl Scout on the wrapper and asked
about it.

"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!"

The older woman pointed to a tall stack of books with the
logo of a tea-bag over a teacup on the cover.  It was the
only stack that didn't seem to be selling quickly.  "Well,
it looks like some of those will be left!"

The girls all groaned, almost as if on cue.

I could tell the truth of how fast these books were selling;
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, though some
of the flames _did_ explain how it could fly.

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.

It was amazing how many other logos there were...  tents,
soccer balls, locomotives (diesel and electric), something
that looked like a little steamboat, a glowing girl, a 2nd
place ribbon, a wise man with a watch...  and one looked
like the Voyager space probe with the plaque noticeable but
not too detailed.

I was amazed.  I had no idea, though, what I was buying.

So I got quite a surprise when I got home and started to
unwrap my purchases.  I won't tell you how late I stayed up
to read one of them.

The surprise the next day when I found one of the girl
scouts I'd seen at the store standing now on my doorstep
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, just to have an
idea of how much trouble it could cause.

I damn near got raped by a pre-teen girl when she finished
the book and rang the doorbell again;  it was only by my
thesaurus distracting her by using all kinds of long words
that saved my virtue.  She headed home, somewhat the worse
for wear, given how she'd had to take care of her own needs.

I'm not a complete idiot, you know, so I worried that she'd
be back.

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

Wouldn't you know it?  The matronly woman I'd met at the
store the day before was at my door the next morning.  She
sure looked happy, though I couldn't understand why.

Now I admit that I *like* mature women.  And mature women
who know what they want and are willing to tell me how I can
give it to them are even *more* likable.  I'd rate them as
"keepers", if only one would stay with me.

And a vivacious woman who looked more comfortable in the
police uniform she kept under her Girl Scout leader uniform
(which she'd used to make her look older and matronly)
jumped me.  But good.  I even enjoyed the sessions.

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 took to hiding, avoiding discovery these days,
ever since the kids read one story coded "best".  I could
occasionally hear him (and the girls had proven him to be a
"him") whimpering from somewhere under the futon.

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

                         * 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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