You don't need to bother reading this post, as you've had the same experience. Namely—nine year old girls are the best salesmen, and the most confining. (Happy International Women's Day, everybody!) My big mistake was walking to the table. I am in the midst of handing a five dollar bill to the little girl, and I'm staring at it because I've changed my mind and want to spend it on the book I was going to buy, per the original plan. But what do you do? You can't say, "I changed my mind. I want to use this to buy Elizabeth Kolbert's The Sixth Extinction." What if the little girl asks me what that is. Do I want to tell her, with her mother behind her, that it's a book on mass extinctions, and that we—me and her—are the ones causing the latest ones, which will surely include me and her? Even if she doesn't ask me, and I don't tell her the specific reason for wanting the money, I still can't get out of this. But these little girls don't care about refusal. It's in the way she expertly takes my money and her friend, who is in charge of the cash box, smoothly hands me the dollar change. Kids are strong. Little girls are strong. I'm a dunce. But the cookies are pretty good. They only had a few boxes so I picked tagalongs, the peanut butter with chocolate covering.