I was in trouble.

I had begun to sweat profusely. My heart pounded in my chest and I began to tremble. I couldn’t think of anything else — nothing but the cool minty circle dipped in chocolate.

And I panicked.

I knew it was Girl Scout cookie season but I could not think of a single Girl Scout. In fact, even today, I’m not sure they exist anymore.

I mean, when was the last time you actually saw a little girl dressed in a cotton green dress festooned with a sash full of merit badges like Sewing, Fire Starting, Baking, Painting, Reading, Ironing, and Tantrum Pitching.

I was a Girl Scout and even before that I was a Brownie. I don’t remember much about what Brownies do except visit nursing homes but I still have my Girl Scout sash with 37 merit badges stitched across it. Amazing, too, since I could neither cook nor clean when I married. Hubby taught me everything I know. I think I’ll give him my sash.

But, really, I never see real Girl Scouts out and about anymore. I see adults (who I assume to be their mothers) standing outside of Bells or the bank, hawking the delectables but not the actual greenies.

When I was coming along, we Girl Scout Nazis would be on you like a fat lady on a Do-Si-Do. We would go selling door to door in our uniforms, fearless of backyard dogs and cranky husbands, and go back again a month later to deliver the goods.

Where are those fired-up little cookie monsters today?

For that reason I had worked up a hissy fit of historic proportions. Where in the world was I going to find a Girl Scout who was selling cookies, specifically Thin Mints?

What is it that makes me crave these cookies that only show themselves once a year? Just what are these cookie-teasers trying to do to me? They pop up unexpectedly at the oddest places, make their mega bucks, and then disappear for another year.

Try to find Thin Mints a day after the cookie season and you’re in deep trouble.

I was close to having a diabetic seizure and I began to dial the phone in search of anyone or anything that might score me some chocolate speed.

I’m not above black market Thin Mints either. I’d even pay more than the already astronomical $3.50 a box. I can’t explain my addiction to these tiny chocolate delights. Maybe it’s chemical.

Surely though, a group as reputable as the Girl Scouts wouldn’t lace their cookies with Oxycontin, would they? But something’s in there, for sure.

And to make matters worse, just last year Girl Scout boxed cookies were reduced in size to accommodate rising flour and cocoa prices. Flour has risen 30 %, cocoa 20%.

“We aren’t talking about a drastic change,” said a GS representative, “just a couple of cookies.”

My word! The way I figure it, one sleeve of cookies is one serving so that’s 50% of my personal enjoyment gone, right there in one box!

So, back to my quest. I called around to any friends of mine young enough to have a daughter or granddaughter Girl Scout age and came up with two, neither of whose grandkids was in Girl Scouts. I’m figuring they were but since nobody wears the uniform these days, they just didn’t know.

I was complaining on Facebook about my dilemma and, lo and behold, I had about twenty-five hits in just a few minutes. Seems they were everywhere – obviously, undercover. Come to think of it, I did recall a woman at Wal-Mart last week, slouched over in a corner of the entrance with her trench coat opened. She must have had Thin Mints in there, and I had just assumed she was a pervert greeter.

One of my FB responders said her daughter even had a case of low sugar Thin Mints if I wanted those. I tried to ignore her obvious insult and sent her a polite no thanks.

Diet Thin Mints may have fewer calories than the real deal but so what? Cat poop has fewer, too, and I wouldn’t eat that either.

My search led me to LCHS and the school secretary’s office. No, she didn’t have any cookies herself, nor did her daughter, but she had a niece in Augusta who could score a case of Thin Mints for me for a couple hundred bucks. Done.

I picked up the case, covered it in brown paper and headed to the car. I drove home as slowly as I could for I couldn’t risk being stopped by a law officer whose daily diet consists of donuts at every meal.

Once at home, I quickly put the Mints in the pantry – the one in my closet. Now, lest you think I’m an absolute selfish pig, I put fours boxes out on the kitchen counter for the family to share.

By the next morning, all the boxes were empty, including the ones in my closet.

Dear Hearts, it’s in the genes. We need help.

I guess we’re doomed to a life of annual sugar overload. That is, unless any of you know of a 12–Step Program for Thin Mint Addicts? Everyone would be welcome, of course. Even if you wrestled a sweet little dimpled Girl Scout to the ground to grab her last box of Mints, come on and join.

TMAA. Thin Mint Addicts Anonymous. Definitely, anonymous.

[Please, no hate mail. This is a humor column. I love Girl Scout cookies. I love Girl Scouts. I just paid for one in Augusta to go to college.]