It's Lent. Or as I like to call it: Girl Scout cookie season. And so yesterday, as I stood in line and inched my way toward the ashes-bearing priest, I tried to focus on my mortality but couldn't get Thin Mints out of my mind. If I gave up desserts for Lent, this would mean letting Thin Mints pass me by (don't even suggest I put them in the freezer; they taste best frozen). How could any normal human being be expected to do that? And yet, as I weighed my options, no other Lenten resolution rose to the level of "sacrifice" the way giving up Thin Mints cookies would. God would be so pleased. Father Paul, annoyingly oblivious to my conundrum, swiped his blackened thumb on my forehead: "Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return."
Death and Cookies
Death and Cookies
Death and Cookies
It's Lent. Or as I like to call it: Girl Scout cookie season. And so yesterday, as I stood in line and inched my way toward the ashes-bearing priest, I tried to focus on my mortality but couldn't get Thin Mints out of my mind. If I gave up desserts for Lent, this would mean letting Thin Mints pass me by (don't even suggest I put them in the freezer; they taste best frozen). How could any normal human being be expected to do that? And yet, as I weighed my options, no other Lenten resolution rose to the level of "sacrifice" the way giving up Thin Mints cookies would. God would be so pleased. Father Paul, annoyingly oblivious to my conundrum, swiped his blackened thumb on my forehead: "Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return."