Ate an entire box of Girl Guide Cookies today. Felt obliged and embarrassed enough to fork out the 4-bucks-for-a-good-cause at UVic yesterday when a couple of pretty young UVic students I know glanced me mounting my bike and so came running and smiling ecstatically in my direction. I assumed the two ladies simply couldn’t pass up an opportunity to banter with my casual and charming wit until they swung a cardboard crate full of brightly-coloured boxes of said cookies under my nose and immediately launched into a less-than-subtle sales pitch. I quickly recovered my ego, bantered a bit, bought a box and pointed out another friend nearby as a next potential target, who the two GGs squealed over to, ponytails bobbing, cookie box swinging.
But not before I asked them whatever happened to like age limits in Girl Guides. Aren’t a couple 20-somethings a little mature for a club my two little Calgarian cousins used to hang with when they were still single digit age? They (the two UVic GGs) said nope.
Today I read the side-panels of the cookie package, my teeth aching from sugar and my tongue sore with sulphite caramel colouring (among other ingredients, after soya lecithin, monocalcium phosphate and annatto, girl guide cookies also contain (in bold print) Fun Friendships and New Adventures) and there it was: Venez vous joindre