“Might you want to get a few treats, Mister?”
I went to see the young lady scout. She was around eleven years of age, her coppery hair pulled back in a braid. She wore a dull green shirt and khaki jeans. A light green band embellished with pins and decorations was hung across her chest. She grinned up at me, showing supports. She remained behind a table stacked with boxes of Girl Scout treats. I halted at the table and analyzed the containers.
“Do you like treats?” I said.
Her grin widened.
“Everyone likes Girl Scout treats,” she said. “Need to get some?”
“What’s your number one sort of treat?” I said.
She peered down at the containers of treats on the table.
“I like slim mints the best. Yet, they’re all great. My mother enjoys the Samoans.”
“Samoans?” I said.
“No doubt,” the young lady scout replied, “the sort with chocolate and coconut in them.”
I pulled a twenty-dollar note from my wallet.
“A case of meager mints, then, at that point,” I said, giving her the cash, “and a container of Samoans.”
The young lady scout took the twenty-dollar greenback, got a container of slim mints and a crate of Samoas, which are heavenly, not normal for Samoans, the locals of the Samoan islands, who are great individuals, yet don’t taste generally excellent. She held them out to me. I shook my head.
“They’re not really for me,” I said. “They’re for you. Furthermore, you can hold onto whatever’s left.”
She gazed down at the twenty-dollar greenback and the crates of treats in her grasp. Her eyes became wide.
“Truly, Mister?” She said. “Be that as it may, why?”
“Truly,” I expressed, grinning down at her. “Also, assuming you should know the explanation, this is on the grounds that I never said much obliged.”
“Much obliged to you to me?” She said. She looked befuddled. “Gratitude for what?”
“I owe all the Girl Scouts a thank you,” I said. “You don’t have any acquaintance with it, however quite a while in the past, well before you were even conceived, the Girl Scouts saved my life.”
I was seventeen years of age when it worked out. The congregation I went to had a yearly campout, and my companion, Sean, a frivolous official in the naval force, a young fellow with a light composition and a tactical guideline hair style, convinced me to go. I tossed the main setting up camp stuff I had, an old green armed force hiking bed with a wrecked zipper, into the secondary lounge of Sean’s little blue vehicle.
