It’s no secret that I’ve been Depressed lately. Damn it, I Dig Deeper, trying to figure out where these Dismal emotions are coming from. Daunted, I Drag myself from bed, make a latte, and Drink up. Then it Dawns on me. This Detrimental Disease, this Darkness that has Descended upon me, is Due to one thing: my supply of girl scout cookies is Depleted.
I am Despondent.
The thin mint Diet is but a Distant memory now, every Diabolical morsel having been Devoured within the first three days of Delivery. Why, oh, why, Do they have to make those Delicate cookies so Diminutive? This is beyond Disappointment; I am Defeated and Dismayed, Deprived of the Deliciousness I Definitely Deserve.
The Husband, of course, Doesn’t understand my Dysfunctional relationship with the GS cookies. He laughs a Derisive laugh, rolls his eyes in a Derogatory gesture, and tells me Dismissively to “get over it.” He is, without a Doubt, Deplorable. I shoot Daggers out the slits of my eyes at him, but he walks away Distracted and oblivious to my Displeasure.
“Darling, eat another Danish,” he says Diplomatically, as if I cannot Discern the Difference between one Dessert and another. I regard him and his Disgraceful substitutions with Disdain.
I really Don’t want to Discuss it with him, but I am Determined to set him straight: “Dear, Don’t tell me what to Do …” I begin, Dizzy from the hunger.
A knock at the Door interrupts my Diatribe.
I answer, and there stands a neighbor Dad and his Daughter and their Dog. The Darling Daughter is Dressed in some sort of green uniform and clutching a Document. “We’re sorry to Disturb you, Doctor MOV,” says Daniela to me, “but it was time to Drop off your second order of girl scout cookies!”
This is like a Delightful Dream with Doves soaring and Dolphins Diving. I want to hug Daniela and promote her to girl scout Dignitary. I am no longer the Disillusioned Dame I was mere minutes ago.
“Thank you,” Declares The Husband, walking over and handing her a check, “My wife had Developed somewhat of an addiction to these cookies, ha ha.” How Dare he compare these innocent cookies to Drugs?!
The girl Departs. I Dab my Damp eyes with a tissue, my Demented Demeanor shifts, and I Dance a victory jig.
No longer Distressed, I scoop up the cookie boxes (three Dozen!) and Disappear.
MOV
