Updates: The national chapter of Delta Zeta claims that its actions were misunderstood.
They didn’t boot all the plus-size and minority girls for failing to be thin and blond….they booted them for failing to recruit actively enough. It was just a total coincidence that only the thin, blond girls were asked to stay. Total coincidence! Really!
I do love to see a good backpedal. Burns so many calories, don’tcha know.
In other news, good seats are still available at the WXPN benefit I’ll be attending Thursday night.
And now, for the most embarrassing thing I’ll ever admit on the Internet (and believe me when I tell you that that's saying something).
On Saturday morning, the girl got sick. Lethargic, glassy-eyed, complaining that her tummy hurt, not wanting to get dressed or off the couch. I gave her juice, bundled her in a blanket, and put on some Noggin. Eventually, it occurred to me to take her temperature.
It was 103.5.
So I called the pediatrician, where the triage nurse said that with belly pain and a fever like that, it was probably a good idea to head to the emergency room.
We got into the minivan and were on our way. Traffic was crawling, as traffic does in Center City on the weekends. At Fifth and Bainbridge, we came to a standstill, stuck behind a trash truck. I looked out my window and saw two kids and two grownups standing behind a cardboard box, with a sign that said GIRL SCOUT COOKIES!
Now, understand: our car was not moving. There was the trash truck in front of us, and a red light beyond that.
And I love Thin Mints. Love love love Thin Mints. It is one of the biggest drawbacks of not working in an office that I no longer have access to the Thin Mints. I have been begging my husband on a regular basis to please bring me home some cookies (“Aren’t there any people in your office with kids in Girl Scouts? No? How about other offices? Well, can’t you just make friends with some eight-year-old girls?”)
Every time I’m out and about with the girl and the dog, I’ve been keeping an eye out, thinking I’d come across a rogue troop selling their wares door-to-door. And here, mere inches from our let-me-repeat-not-going-anywhere-minivan, were the goods.
I looked at Adam. Adam looked at me. I pulled fifteen dollars out of my wallet. “Roll down the window! Get three boxes of Thin Mints! Tell them to keep the change! We can do it before the light turns green!”
He looked at me with a look that said, We’re taking our child to the emergency room and you want to stop for Girl Scout cookies?
“Well, we’re stopped anyhow! Just let me out of the car. I’ll catch up to you at the corner!”
He gave me another look. This look said, roughly, You Are Going to Burn in Hell, You Horrible, Horrible Woman. Then he hit the child safety lock on my door. Bastard.
I put the money back. We sat there until the trash truck moved and light turned green, and proceeded without incident to the ER where, let me tell you, if you show up with a kid with a fever that high holding her belly, things happen with a quickness.
Bottom line, after a variety of tests, X-rays and ultrasounds we had a diagnosis: the girl had a virus. We were sent home with instructions to give her Tylenol and apple juice. She has since made a complete recovery.
And I still got no Thin Mints.