At my first and last Brownie meeting, I hid in the community-center bathroom for two hours while the other girls played jumpsies, screeched like pterodactyls, and did other scary stuff.
From that night on, I pegged the Girl Scouts as an inconsequential holding pen for dimwitted, extroverted sheep and bossy Lucy van Pelts whose parents got stuck selling overrated cookies once a year.
Until recently, I had no idea the organization was helping dismantle what’s left of the West…
