Gimme some more samoas

It's that time of year when little girls, dressed in vests adorned with a zillion patches, appear at every public venue, grocery store, and work place. They come across so sweet and innocent, with their cheerful grins and promise of great hope for the future. They pawn their goods so deceptively! They lure you in with tasty memories and the threat that what they've got won't last for long.

I'm weak. I cannot pass them up. I cannot turn my eye. Their swift little daggers hook me. What's worse is that one of my goddaughters is part of the clan. How can I deny those bright blue eyes coupled with chocolaty goodness paired with a thin layer of mint? Or shortbread layered with caramel, chocolate and toasted coconut?

Soon, I'm faced with 12 boxes of madness. I promise myself that I will put them in the freezer, and take them out for guests. But somehow I convince myself that I'll have "just one," which always turns into three or four, then soon, the whole box.

It's a destructive cycle that I look forward to each year.