A good mother who hasn’t seen her son - the one-armed liftie - in three months would send him a batch of homemade cookies.

Not me.

I’ve been waiting for a Girl Scout to knock on my door. 

Unlike anything that emerges from my little-used oven, Girl Scout cookies can survive a 2,266-mile trip to Utah without crumbling into something he’d have to sprinkle over ice cream.

Best of all, my son would get something he really likes: Thin Mints and Samoas. 

So I’ve been waiting. Ever since cookie season kicked off around here in early February.

Yet, for the first time in years no girls materialized on my porch. 

And since I no longer work in an office, I didn’t even have an annoying co-worker shoving an order form at me, trying to gin up his or her kid’s sales.

As I wrote years ago in a column: Buying cookies from cute girls is fun. Scoring Thin Mints from a guy with a beard is weird. If you’re going to sell Girl Scout cookies, put on a doggone Girl Scout uniform.

Still, I would have swallowed my distaste and happily ordered a few boxes from a fat guy in a stained tie this year.

No luck.

Finally, outside my supermarket on Friday I saw a table stacked with colorful cookies boxes and three girls grinning at me. Behind them, of course, a trio of protective mothers.

“Yes! Just what I’ve been looking for,” I exclaimed sweeping up a couple of boxes. “Geez, hang on a minute, not sure I have enough cash.”

“We take credit cards!” they chorused.

Of course they do. Why wouldn’t they? Girl Scouts have progressed. They aren’t wearing the same dopey uniforms we wore when I was a troop member. They aren’t knocking on doors like we did either. 

Shoot, no one sells stuff door to door anymore. They station themselves near bustling businesses instead and use digital cookie platforms to market their confections.

Smart.

As a former Girl Scout who remembers the brutal competition of cookie season, I never pass a girl hawking cookies without buying a box. 

Yet I never purchase that popcorn the Boy Scouts try to sell. When I see them outside my supermarket, I detour to a different door.

Somebody needs to tell the boys that their product is sad. 

No one likes flavored popcorn. It tastes stale and gets stuck in your teeth. 

Boy Scouts could learn a lesson from the girls: Sell something people actually want.

If I sent my son a bag of Boy Scout popcorn I suspect he’d just toss it to the Utah birds. Not a chance that'll happen with the Samoas.