Cookies

There are many things I miss about the general United States when I live in Alaska. Radio stations, driving my car, fast food, not carrying my laundry to another building to wash it, drive-in theaters, getting items the same day I pay for them, comparison shopping, buying shoes for their cuteness, and not just their cold weather rating, etc. etc. etc.

Today a small piece of the lower 48 came up to Shishmaref. A piece that I hold very dear. Now, when Amy's cousin's cousin brought us oranges and crescent roll dough, we were pretty stoked. These are items that we can't just buy at the local store. We could buy them in Nome, though. But that's not what I'm talking about. What I'm discussing is something that one can not simply pick up. It requires planning, forethought, and patience (things I don't currently have).

What came was this:

That's right, devoted fans. Mr. Dennis Davis, the biggest Eskimo I've ever seen, brought us Girl Scout Cookies. The kids tried to tell me I should share, because they were "hungry." Puh-lease. One does not eat Girl Scout Cookies out of hunger. One eats them because they are a little bit of American culture, and are slightly magical. 

The kids don't understand. They can't. It's not their fault, but I'm not going to give up my box of Samoas to teach them.