Wherein My Shit? It Is Cracking Up

In first grade I joined the Brownies. So did a slew of other girls. My parents thought I just wanted to join things simply because I wanted the uniform/team shirt, so they let me join, but refused to get me the Brownie outfit. The Brownie uniform was ugly. UGLY. Tan and brown and orange. Like the 70's. Ugly.

Brownies was lame, and I, along with all the other girls, wound up quitting. The only girl who progressed on to Girl Scouts was the girl whose mother was troup leader. We all felt bad for her on Girl Scout day. Poor Caryn. Boy Scouts was considered equally lame, and by second grade there was only one boy still participating, and we all got screamed at by Mrs. Firestone when we'd roll our eyes watching Damon, clad in his navy blue Boy Scout uniform, salute the flag during the Pledge of Allegience instead of "crossing his heart" like the rest of the class.

When I moved to Florida, in talking with a group of secretaries, someone said "Yeah, but we'd expect better. He's a Boy Scout." I smirked. Boy Scouts were lame where I came from, remember? They explained that in Florida, if you were in the Scouts (Boy or Girl) you were considered a Good Kid. Trustworthy, dependable, responsible, all that shit. "Oh," I said. "In New York it just means you're a loser."

That particular boy went on to be physically abusive to his mother, our coworker, run away, and ultimately get arrested for stealing. Trustworthy my ass.

So I'm sure you're not surprised to hear that I smirked when reading about the Girl Scout camp that had marijuana growing there.