Dirty Tricks With Girl Scout Cookies

I just recently discovered Plants versus Zombie. I mean, I didn’t discover it. It existed long before I learned how to navigate the Playstation 3 the kids have upstairs. The three year old knows how it works. I don’t. The world passed me by after Nintendo 64. Up up down left right… you know the schtick. I don’t remember the password to my bank account, but I remember the cheat code for Contra.

I started playing Plants versus Zombies because I’d been having a stressful week dealing with medication changes and feeling invisible because everyone who owed me money or was supposed to do something for me had disappeared, and everyone who wanted something from me was omnipresent. One of those weeks. So I started playing Plants versus Zombie. And I enjoyed it. 

Then the kids went crazy on the third floor and made a monumental mess that led to the banning of all food and drinks upstairs. Now I like to have a cup of tea and play some Plants versus Zombies to begin the day, but I haven’t had any luck sneaking my cup of tea up the stairs past the watchful eye of Jenny, guardian of the stairs. Today I considered putting it under my sweatshirt, Spartan style, but it was too hot. Not as bad as rabid fox, but painful enough I had to abort my plan. 

Later I have to get it all together to go to the YMCA for both an aerobic and weight workout. As I watch the kids jamming Girl Scout cookies into their mouths and playing a video game about Halloween, I wish I could return to the days where everything I ingested wasn’t a potential time bomb that could literally kill me. You know you’re in trouble when your doctor tells you even green, leafy vegetables can be bad for you. Where can you go from there? The things they told you to eat all your life are even dangerous for me. I don’t have the option the kids have to ignore all advice about nutrition and pay the consequences later. The consequences are immediate. I feel them within hours of my culinary transgressions.

I still bought my standing order of Samoan, or whatever they have changed the name to in order to be PC, cookies this year. And like last year, they will sit in my freezer for a few months, then get tossed out. Not because I don’t enjoy them, I do, but because I only enjoy them with about six cans of Tab Cola, and my stomach doesn’t deserve that. 

Meanwhile, the Dirty Tricks with Girlscout Cookies continue upstairs. At least for now.

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