Dear neighborhood Girl Scouts,

I’ve spent the last week hearing people talk about Girl Scout cookies. Thin Mint this and Samoa that. And I LOVE Thin Mints. I’ve stopped at various grocery stores over the last few days hoping to run into some of you and give you some of my hard-earned money in exchange for crack in cookie form. No luck. Early this evening, I had a couple of hours to kill and decided I would not rest until I had Thin Mints in hand. Google helped me find a Girl Scout cookie locator, and a quick input of my ZIP code confirmed that the Safeway down the road should have what I was looking for. Perfect. I figured the dog and I would walk there, and that the three-mile round-trip trek would make those cookies practically calorie-free. And off we went. I could almost taste those Thin Mints.

Upon arrival, we walked past the entrance and didn’t see a table set up for cookie sales. But I wasn’t going to give up hope. Perhaps you Girl Scouts are selling your wares somewhere other than the entrance. In the produce department? Over the pharmacy counter? Since I couldn’t take the mutt inside, I plopped down on a bench, Wheezy hopped up in my lap, and I made a quick phone call to the Safeway. I learned that you Girl Scouts hadn’t been there today to sell cookies. Were you there yesterday? Yup, two separate groups of ya. And last week? Of course. But on the day I want cookies, you’re nowhere to be found. That’s just great.

So we turned around and headed back. As a consolation prize, I got an ice-cream cone at the neighborhood ice-cream parlor — but not before nearly being hit by a car! (Hey driver of red car pulling out of parking lot next to the library, pay attention!!!) My ice-cream cone — chocolate ginger — was divine. Almost worth three miles, near death and a big ol’ blister.

I’ll find you, Girl Scouts. I will get my Thin Mints. Be prepared. (Isn’t that your motto, anyway?)

See you soon,
Leah

Dear barista,

You had no way of knowing that the latte you made for me on Friday afternoon was a rare treat for me. That I usually just drink normal ol’ cheap (and often free) black coffee. That I used to be a two-espresso-beverage-a-day girl, but these days I rarely partake of such indulgences. You didn’t know that I’ve become more frugal (and sensible, really). But shouldn’t every latte you make be a treat? Isn’t that the point of fancy coffee from the fancy neighborhood bakery? (On a side note, every other coffee beverage I have ever had from this establishment has been phenomenal.)

I tried to drink that latte. I was several blocks away when I took my first sip. It was the most bitter, disgusting latte I have ever tasted, and I’ve had a few bad ones in my day. I took a few deep breaths, talked myself into having another taste. Even worse. As soon as I got to the light-rail station, that full latte went into the trash. Three dollars I will never get back. And yeah, it sucks to waste a few bucks. But I had been looking forward to sipping that latte on the light rail ALL DAY LONG. You broke my heart.

I hope this was an anomaly.

Better luck next time,
Leah

Dear co-worker whose name I don’t recall,

I’ll be brief. Instoppable is not a word. Your work ethic is admirable, I’m sure. I’m fairly certain that when you said “I’m instoppable,” you meant you are kicking ass at whatever it is your job is and that, perhaps, you’re unstoppable. Good for you.

Thanks,
Leah

P.S. This may be part of the reason I wear headphones at work. I’d rather listen to Pearl Jam and Tori Amos and, yes, even Coldplay (Pandora did it) than hear my co-workers (who write things and edit things as part of their jobs) incessantly use words that don’t exist.