Patsy Pridgen

Patsy Pridgen Patsy Pridgen

You may have seen the Facebook joke: “Police have received reports of highly addictive substances arriving in our area. These substances go by several different street names: Thin Mints, Peanut Butter Patties, Caramel deLites, Shortbread ...”

We all recognize the humorous truth of this bogus message: Girl Scout cookies are hard to resist.

My love affair with these peddled cookies goes back to the mid-1980s when my oldest daughter became a Brownie. Being a country girl, I grew up a proud member of 4-H. The Girl Scout organization was new to me. In fact, I’m not sure I’d ever had a Girl Scout cookie until the first year I helped my daughter with her sales.

She hawked to friends and relatives, filling out her order sheet with the slow deliberation of an 8-year-old. I don’t remember her final tally, but I do recall her best customer: me.

I’d developed a craving for every type sold, with Thin Mints being my favorite. I was a little embarrassed by the amount on the check I wrote for my supply but told myself my cookie consumption was for the good of the troop. I’d binged on Thin Mints for the children.

I wasn’t the only one in my family who loved Girl Scout cookies.

One year, I was in charge of the troop’s cookie sales, which required storing surplus boxes in my dining room. Many afternoons for quite a few weeks, my girls and I would tear open a box of Girl Scout cookies for our after-school treat.

The check I wrote that year for the surplus supply we consumed was close to a budget buster. I decided I did not have the self-control to be the cookie mom. I’d gone right along with my daughters when they’d suggested an afternoon Girl Scout cookie fest.

Over the years, my girls grew out of Scouts, but each season, I’d still search for suppliers of those addictive cookies. They weren’t hard to find.

Neighborhood girls peddled door-to-door. Some gave their sheets to their moms to take to my workplace. Still others would lure me with a cookie-laden table set up by the grocery store door. I saw the price gradually rise to $4 a box.

I didn’t care.

I wanted a fix of my new favorite, Peanut Butter Patties, which I’d found to be even more addictive than Thin Mints.

For the last few years, my dealer has been my granddaughter. These days, there’s no order form to fill out. Girl Scouts ride around with their cookies in the car, ready to deliver on the spot.

Instant gratification.

My granddaughter has already shown up with boxes and boxes of Girl Scout cookies in the back of her mom’s SUV. “What do you want this year, grandma?” she asked. “They’re $4 a box or five for $20.”

I was so dazzled by Peanut Butter Patties and Thin Mints, it took me a minute to catch her slick math.

“Very funny,” I said. “Start me off with five for $20.”

Patsy Pridgen blogs at and is the author of “Ms. Dee Ann Meets Murder.”