Since Younger hasn’t provided the necessary entertainment, I thought I would share an old story from 2001. And for the record, we never did see the Brownie or her cookies again. . .
The other day, a Girl Scout knocked on our door, delivering our cookies. So, I asked her to step inside for a moment while I retrieved my checkbook. While my back was turned, Elder proceeded to terrorize the Brownie.
“I have two Marios,” he announced. “One for my Gameboy and one for my Nintendo – my gray Nintendo. It’s in my bedroom. Do you have a Mario? Do you want to play my Mario? See if you push this button you can make him jump. I’m under the ground. My Daddy can kill the things with the spikes. But there’s fire too and the fire jumps and goes whoosh…”
“Elder,” I tried to intervene. “She’s not here about your games.”
“Then why’s she here?”
“She brought us some cookies.”
“Why’d’ya bring us cookies? See my Gameboy is yellow. And the game goes back here. I have a Pokemon game, too. It’s over there. Somewhere. What’s your name?”
By this time, I had rounded the sofa again, checkbook in hand, only to find the girl plastered to our door in the classic pose of a B movie heroine. Somewhat amused and a little horrified, I offered her a reassuring smile, before concentrating on writing the check.
“Kristan,” she whispered, answering Elder’s question.
“My name’s Elder. How many are you? How many are you?”
“Nine,” she whispered.
“I’m four,” Elder told her then pointed to Younger, who was also crowding into our small foyer. “And he’s one.”
“Here you go.” Leaning over the boys, I gave her the check. “Thanks.”
Inching her way across the door, she tugged on the knob then slid through the tiny opening into the night. Alone, his captive audience having escaped, Elder turned to me and asked, “Is she coming back sometime to play?”
“I doubt it, Elder.”
Actually, I imagine Kristan, the Brownie, who is nine years old, will most likely be giving our house a very wide berth at all points in the future.