A True StoryI'm a Girl Scout. This often alarms those who know me well, considering I display little to none of the Girl Scout's code of hearty wholesome girly conduct, but it is, in fact, true. I used to sell cookies and everything. But that's beside the point as a Girl Scout, I get to reap the benefits of doing my duty to the world with corn syrup-packed pastries. Which results in mall sleepovers, "Gather 'Round the Fire" Camping weekends, and some-and-such "wholesome" experiences. And since almost nothing in said experiences matters all that much, most of the time I don't reserve a special spot in my memory for their events.
Which is why it came as a bit of a surprise to me when, almost a year after our previous Encampment, I began to receive about three messages a day from a mysterious sender, who claimed we'd met at the Camp-Out. I must have forgotten our conversation, because I didn't recall giving my email out to anyone. Let alone giving out my last name.
Which is why it