I Wonder How Long it Will Take Me To Eat This Entire Sleeve of Thin Mints?

There was a time in life when I used to believe that I could eat 4 Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies, and then twist the remainder of the sleeve up, clip it with a clothespin (my chip-clip of choice), and put it back in the freezer.  At the venerable age of 34, however, I’ve learned a lot about myself, and learned to be really comfortable with who I am.  And who I am is a woman who can, and will, eat the entire sleeve of Thin Mints in one sitting.  Thank you, thanks there’s no need for applause, I know it’s impressive.

For years and years I used to rip the cardboard strip on the new Thin Mint box, tear open clear plastic wrap of the initial sleeve (replaced this year with foil, by the way), select four slim chocolate cookies, and lay them on the counter.  Then, in order to maintain the delusion of self control, I would twist up the end of the sleeve to preserve the freshness of the cookies I had not selected - even though I knew, deep down in a soul as dark as the chocolate glaze of the cookies I loved, that they would not be in that freezer long enough to lose their fresh minty crunch.  I’d carefully return the sealed-up sleeve to the box and put the whole lot in the freezer, then close the door.  I would take my glass of milk and my cookies and sit on the couch, and try to eat them slowly, savoring every morsel (as I’ve been taught by all of the lady’s magazines that have been explaining to me for years that I’m too fat, but with their guidance I can slim down in time for summer/after Christmas/post-baby/whenever, all I have to do is eat more slowly/eat pomegranate/eat acai/eat less/eat what I want with this amazing new pill/do this twenty minute exercise every morning/never diet again.)

Within ten seconds of wiping my lips from the last bit of the last cookie, I’d find an excuse to wander toward the freezer.  Hmmmm, maybe I should do those couple of dishes? And ya know, while I’m so close to the fridge, I may as well check and see if I need to buy Eggo waffles/if we have enough ice/if the ice cream froze over/whether I defrosted that Tupperware container of leftover chili that I wanted to reheat tonight for dinner.  Oh lookie here – I see a box of Thin Mints.  I suppose it is that same box I just put in here, but since I’m looking at it, maybe I’ll just have one more.  One or two.  Well, you know a serving size is four cookies, so I’ll just have another serving, to keep it even.  So four.  Just four.  Maybe five, that’s a satisfying amount to hold in my hand.  Or maybe I’ll just take the whole sleeve out to the couch , that way I won’t get chocolate melting on anything.

A few “Nom Nom Crunch Nom Gobble Devour Nom” sounds later, the sleeve would be gone, and I’d be looking around, furtively wiping minty chocolate smears from my face and  various appendages, and checking to see if anyone had noticed that all of those cookies were in the belly of one person and that person was me, a girl who apparently would NOT be slimming down in time for swimsuit season/after Thanksgiving/before going to the high school reunion.

Ironically, these days I’m probably fifteen pounds heavier than I was then, but I own my eating choices in a way that I never could when I was fifteen pounds lighter and ten years younger.  Hi, my name is G Love, and I eat a sleeve of Thin Mints in one sitting.  And unlike the twenty-something version of me that shamefully wrapped up freezer cookies while wilting under the non-existent judgmental gaze of the non-existent people who were not judging me for the indulgence because THEY DON’T EXIST, I own my choices - good, bad, and chocolatey.

Therefore, wonder no longer.  The amount of time it takes for G Love to eat a sleeve of Thin Mint cookies, all sixty-five inches, size twelve, one-hundred-fifty-five-pounds of her, is . . . less than the time it takes to write a blog post, apparently. 

Nom Nom.