First of all I would like to thank the girl scouts of America for finally taking a fucking credit card. Who the hell still carries around cash? Let alone a checkbook. All I have lingering in the bottom of my
purse overnight bag is some stale goldfish and a few hot wheels and those tiny green vested ladies don’t take trades. I tried.
Anywho, it’s no secret eating your feelings is a thing. But eating girl scout cookies when tiny humans make you wanna rage against the machine is an even bigger thing. Here’s why:
For starters those things are basically ninja cookies. Picky eaters don’t even know they have sugar in them so an entire box of 1,000
calories energy units are yours to eat freely out in the wild. No hiding in closets required. Fa real though, my kid won’t touch a caramel delite because the anti-Christ sprinkled coconut on those bitches. Do you know what a coconut flake does to a picky eater? It ain’t cute. What about lemonades? Dude, my kid thinks I’m eating the dog biscuits and runs away screaming. Win, win. Thin mints? Well I’m not really sure why he doesn’t like those and that kinda makes me question my parenting skills, but ya know I’m also selfish AF.
Next up is how perfectly they pair with bad behavior. Did your kid shit on the floor this morning? Eat a thin mint! This will surely prevent you from calling him an asshole to his face. Did your precious angel purposely pour their water in the couch dent so they could blow bubbles with their straw? Stuff your face with some coconut laced caramel goodness. This will undoubtedly remind you that spanking is something you don’t do. What about that time your kid kicked you in the face because you told him he needed to read quietly for a little bit? Lemonades will hold you back from throwing every single toy he owns out the upstairs window.
And finally, all that sugar won’t make you regret the need to unbutton your jeans, it will energize you and turn you into one of those moms that let’s their kids paint and do art and shit. You might even *gasp* let them mash all the playdough into one brown ball. Wait did I say jeans? Bahahahahaha. Yoga pants are pants y’all. Girl scouts fucking understand this. They know I need extra real estate for my thin mint thunder thighs, but more importantly they know I need to be fucking inspired when the shit (literally) starts to hit the fan. They know moms need stealth little sugar biscuits to make it to 5pm and that deserves all the motherfucking camp fire patches in the world.