I feel like a dealer. A lot of the characteristics are the same. I constantly have product on hand. I was approached just yesterday by a repeat user in my parking garage. I have people who started out with a modest purchase and then escalated into a two, three, four a day addiction.
I’m constantly dealing. Looking for my next score. 3 p.m. office sugar drop? I’m your gal. Post-soccer match treat yo’ self? I’m there. Office elevator full of women at 5 p.m…I’m right there with my stash.
I made the mistake early in the game of sampling some of my own product. I say to myself, “Just one.” OK, maybe another. And another. Hell, it’s been a bad day, I’ll just do the whole thing, but then quit cold turkey tomorrow. Yes, I can do that. How bad can it be for you anyways? Soon, I’m up to a box a day habit. Strung out, hiding in the bathroom, inhaling my own product at mind boggling speed. The kids’ will never know. My husband won’t find my stash. Just a quick hit to take the edge off the day.
Yes, folks. I am a Cookie Mom. I have that yearly temptation of sweet goodness boxed and stacked shoulder high in my garage. Samoas, Thin Mints, Trefoils, Tagalongs. I’ve got them all. Timed perfectly at the end of February each year – just about the time our New Year’s resolutions are fading fast and a tiny cookie doesn’t seem so bad. Lent promises are quickly broken as soon as my daughter and I walk through that door. We are wheelers and dealers with our cute slogans and uniforms. You never had a chance. Even Leo can’t resist.
We are coming. Soon we will hit your street with our wagon full of temptation. Innocently peddling our wares. There goes the neighborhood.
Sorry everyone, but a girl has to pay for camp somehow. It’s hard times we live in these days. Girls gotta eat. Don’t hate the playa, hate the game.
OK, this is getting out of hand. I better leave it be. But really, I still have a ton left. It does do really great things for the girls. Buy a box would ya? Help a mother out? Building strong leaders and diabetes, one box at a time. That’s me. I’m a freakin saint for what I do.
Love,
Jen
PS – I hope to be back more often bitches! 🙂
Confessions of an Introvert 