Rites of Spring/Boy Am I Weak

Even though they're predicting more snow here I'm finally starting to see the first signs of spring. I'm not talking about tree buds, or flowers slowly pushing their way through the soil. I'm not talking about longer, slightly warmer days. No, the two things that signal to me that spring is on the way are two things. I saw my first harley of the season the other day. It was at least 50 degrees out and there were two of them riding side by side through my neighborhood. Always a sign that riding weather is approaching is when even the harley guys (who are now mostly lawyers and doctors and older less cold tolerant folks) are out tooling around and enjoying the weather. It was nice to hear the "bup, bup, bup" of the harley signature sound. But even with all of that, it's not enough to declare "Spring is Here!" No, I need that perennial tradition, Girl Scout Cookie Delivery Day.

You order them in the dark of winter, when you're hibernating and drowsy and your resistance to a 10 year old's high pressure sales tactics can easily overwhelm your self control. Sure, you can rationalize it as helping out a worthy cause. That it teaches the girlscouts about how to plan and operate a sales campaign and helps them become responsible young ladies. Please. The young lady bangs on your door, and while you're scanning 2 feet above her head to see who has the temerity to disturb your watching of the current reruns of the "Wheel of Fortune" on the gameshow channel, she whips out the multifold 4 color list with pictures of all your favorites. She starts hyping the joys of the thin mint. There must be a huge markup on those because invariably they start out there and then move on up. The tag-alongs, the do-si-dos, the traditional butter cookie. But the big momma of them all is the samoas. Now, like all heavily marketed products, I have no idea where they come up with these names. Some dark room buried deep in the bowels of the National Girl Scout Headquarters. All I know is that every year, they say samoa and I drool in pavlovian anticipation. I don't even like coconut. I don't even eat sugar. But there's something about it that makes me order 2 boxes of those and a box of do-si-dos every year. Then they go away and you forget that you even answered the door.
Some months later when you're contemplating that new spring workout plan. Convincing yourself that this year you're going to lose that extra 10 pounds that you packed on during the winter. That you're going to get active and get back hiking and riding your bike and really do it this year. That's when they strike. The sun is shining, it's 2 days away from payday and you have 10 whole dollars to last you and that knock comes at the door. A 10 year old repo chick wants some money. And they're waving cookies in front of your nose. hmmm. And they want their money now. So you fork over your money and grabbing them briskly from their hand you retreat into the privacy of your own home and embark on the yearly bout of fighting for enough self-control to not eat the entire box in one sitting. Even with the whole pot of coffee that it takes to cut the sugar coating in your mouth you start to vibrate. Clean the house. Go for a run and then drop and pass out in a sugar coma. That, my friends, is truly the very first sign of spring.