Short Story: Brownie takes on Tag-a-longs

As I mentioned in my previous post, I had a short story featured on another blog last October.

Which was a lie… it was October 2017… because I can’t time well I guess.

Anyhoo, my lovely friend, Melanie, put together this month of creature features leading up to Halloween, and (because I’m a goon) I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to share one of my favorite mythological creatures: the Brownie.

I’m relatively obsessed with mythology in general (sorting out Celtic/Irish/Germanic is an on-going battle since the Romans destroyed so much of those ancient cultures, grr), but for whatever reason, the creature that brings me the most joy is the British Brownie, which is somewhat adjacent to goblins or fairies (specifically house elves – think Dobby in Harry Potter).

But before I ramble on too much, here’s what happens when a brownie faces off against Girl Scouts…


Brownie takes on Tag-a-longs

Brownies are one of those few creatures that maintain a benevolent relationship with humans. They attach themselves to homes and to families and take pride in taking care of both. From cleaning to baking, Brownies take responsibility, so when someone or something invades their space, they tend to go a little crazy.

Enter Barry. Barry the Brownie has been with the same family for years, and nothing has ever swayed his confidence in them… until he returned from the grocery store one day to find a box of cookies sitting open on the counter.

As you can imagine, Barry struggled with this. His family didn’t buy cookies. He baked them. He’d always baked them. There was no need to buy pre-made pre-packaged cookies. So he set the bag of groceries down and picked up the box. At the top was the logo of his enemy: Girl Scouts. Every year, those little girls in their brown sashes and gappy smiles knocked on the door selling their blasphemous goods. Usually, Barry’s there to send them packing. But they must have come while he was out. Evil little demons.

He turned the red box over in his hands. Tagalongs. The box had already been opened, so someone in his family had already tasted non-Barry baked goods. Irritation reddened his cheeks as Barry pulled the plastic wrapped tin out. Three cookies were missing. Three! Who’d betrayed him? Was it Frank? Frank never appreciated the work Barry did. It was probably Frank.

Barry opened the trashcan to throw the box inside, but curiosity stopped him. Well it wasn’t so much curiosity as it was hubris. He needed to be 100% positive that his baking was superior, so he took out a Tagalong and bit into it.

The box dropped from his hand. The cookie was delicious. Peanut butter. Chocolate. A tiny touch of buttery shortbread cookie. It was perfect. And Barry hadn’t made them.

Panicked, Barry rushed to the cabinet and took out everything he though he would need – peanut butter, butter, flour, sugar, eggs, chocolate – and began experimenting. He started with the shortbread cookie because he knew shortbread. But once he had to turn his attention to the peanut butter filling, that’s when things took an unfortunate turn. Over and over again, he mixed peanut butter with powdered sugar, peanut butter with granulated sugar, peanut butter with brown sugar. Nothing worked. Through the French doors off the kitchen was the family office. Barry stared at the computer a moment, then shook his head. No. Brownies don’t use Pinterest. Only humans resort to Pinterest. So he tried the filing again, returning to the first mixture of peanut butter and powdered sugar, added a touch of vanilla extract. Closer.

He swiped some of the filling onto each of the cookies and began to melt some chocolate on the stove. When he took it off, he went to dunk his first cookie and the filling separated under the heat. Barry hadn’t ever been violent, but he wanted to throw the bowl of chocolate at the wall. He restrained himself, put the cookies into the freezer, and tried his best to calm his simmering temper. He failed.

For ten whole minutes, he sat on the floor in front of the freezer, glaring at it, cursing the box of Girl Scout cookies that still sat on the counter. When the filling was finally set up, he dunked each cookie in the melted chocolate and set them out to dry.

Have you ever watched chocolate set up? No? Well, it’s the baker’s equivalent of watching paint dry. It’s useless, nonsensical, and Barry did it anyway. All the while, the red Tagalong box mocked him in his peripherals.

He kept his hands away from the chocolate (he didn’t want fingerprints on the cookies). But the wait was excruciating. Were his cookies better than the Girl Scouts? Or would he need to hang up his Brownie apron forever? Barry didn’t know what he could do outside of being a Brownie. Taking care of his human family home was his pride and his joy. Stupid Girl Scouts. Stupid delicious Tagalongs.

With the chocolate coating finally set, Barry picked up one of his cookies and took a bite. It was delicious. The buttery shortbread. The sweet peanut butter. He’d out done those evil Girl Scouts. He just knew he had. Still, he took another Tagalong from the package and bit in.

And then he lost it. The Tagalong was still superior. Screw impulse control. Barry threw the box. It hit the wall and cookies went flying, littering the yellow paint with spots of brown chocolate. Barry flinched at the mess, then realized he didn’t need to clean it up. It was no longer his job to. His family had replaced him with pre-made, pre-packaged witchery. So the flour bag went flying. Then the sugar. The chocolate chips. The carton of eggs. Everything sitting on the counters – sans his cookies – got thrown into the air.

A gasp stopped his tirade. Rebecca, the mother of the family, stood at the edge of the kitchen, eyes darting around, trying to take in the mess. Barry straightened himself, fixing his plaid vest and retying his moss green bow tie.

“Barry?” was all Rebecca said, looking for an explanation.

Barry pointed at the Tagalong box near her feet.

She sighed, picked up the box, and walked it over to the trash. A weight lifted from Barry’s shoulders. Rebecca hadn’t even checked to see if any cookies remained. She then turned to the tray of Barry’s cookies on the island, grabbed one and popped it into her mouth.

Barry waited in anticipation. Regardless of being replaced, he still ached for his family’s approval.

“These are delicious,” she said after swallowing.

“Not as good as Girl Scouts,” Barry scoffed.

“Is that the reason for,” Rebecca motioned her hand toward the rest of the kitchen, “all of this?”

Barry nodded.

Rebecca shook her head but said nothing as she went to the closet and retrieved the broom.

“I guess I’ll get my things,” Barry said, defeated.

“Now why would you do that?”

“You’ve replaced me with Girl Scouts.”

Rebecca laughed.

“You think this is funny? I’m being serious. You don’t appreciate me.”

“Oh Barry,” she began, putting the broom down. “No box of cookies could ever replace you.”

“But I failed.”

“How?”

“My cookies. They’re no good.”

Rebecca took hold of Barry’s hands. “Okay. One: you know that’s not true. And two: you’re family. Anything you make will be better than something bought simply because you made it.” She let go and walked to the office. She lifted a wrapped box from her desk drawer and handed it to him. “I was going to wait to give this to you next week on your anniversary with us, but I think now is a good time.”

Barry – not wanting to destroy the wrapping paper – glided his finger beneath each of the tape pieces and unfolded the wrapping from the box. A new digital kitchen scale rested in his hands, capable of reading both grams and ounces.

“I noticed your old one was fritzing the other day and thought you’d appreciate a new one.”

“So you’re not trying to replace me?”

Rebecca shook her head. “Of course not. Like I said, you’re family.”

Barry clutched the scale to his chest. “I’m sorry about the mess.”

Rebecca shrugged. “I worried when my coworker gave me that box to bring home.”

“So you didn’t buy them?”

“Nope.”

Barry looked around at the mess he made. “Sorry.”

“I tell you what: I won’t bring outside cookies home again if you promise to not jump to conclusions. Deal?”

All Barry’d wanted was his human family’s appreciation. That stupid red box had just burrowed beneath his skin and discredited everything he’d ever done for them. He hadn’t slowed down long enough to even consider how those cookies got there. Brownies weren’t exactly known for their rationality. Still, Barry nodded and helped Rebecca clean up the kitchen.

Moral of the story: if you’re lucky enough to house a Brownie, don’t bring home baked goods… especially not Girl Scout cookies.


Thanks for reading!

– Bree