I'm the stuff that legends are made out of.

The pilgrimage to my house must be a hallowed thing. I can imagine the scene ... three young girls, cheeks rosy from the crisp, spring evening as they stroll along the still-snowy sidewalk. They turn down Charlebois Drive and the eldest of the three tends to walk a bit quicker, then abruptly stops at the end of a particular sidewalk and turns towards the house.

"This is the place - the funny-green one. I went up last year with a half a case. He took them all ... THEN he sent me for more!"

The two others look at her, not quite sure if this is some sort of initiation prank. The eldest one stands with a dreamy, far-away look in her eyes. After a moment, she shakes her head to banish the tantalizing image from previous years of twenty-dollar bills hastily thrust into her hands and starts up the walkway. As she approaches the steps, she asks the others, "Do you want to go first?"

The youngest, a freckle-faced 8 year-old says in an innocent voice, "Sure. I'll try first."

She lightly trips up the stairs with her cardboard box in hand and pecks at the doorbell with her finger. As she waits for the foretold response, she straightens her beret and sash. The door opens and she sees the man's face light up in the same way that her own did on Christmas morning, when she came down from her bedroom to see the pile of brightly-colored presents under the tree. Now was the time for her to recite her carefully practiced (but totally unnecessary) line.

"Hello sir. Would you like to buy a box of Girl Guide Cookies?"



Box? BOX?" I said, trying not to drool on the poor kid. "How many CASES you got?"