Contraband.

My friend Marley reminded me a couple weeks ago about points of etiquette when you're staying in someone's home. And since I'm going to see Miss Gibson in London, I have been trying to figure out for weeks what sort of gift would be suitable to get her.

It has to be small enough to fit in my suitcase, so I was thinking of getting her a CD. I told her when I last saw her about Rufus Wainwright, and I e-mailed her a couple weeks ago to find out if she was keen on Aimee Mann. Today, I discovered that she was a Talking Heads fan, as any intelligent, sane person would be.

But I realized a while ago that she could just as easily purchase certain CDs over in Britain, so I tried to figure out some stuff that we had here that she maybe can't get her hands on.

And, because of some stuff that I've been reading and because of recent sales around my office, I came up with something special that can fit in my suitcase - something she can't get there.

So I wrote her today and asked her if she'd be interested in me tracking down a box of Girl Scout Cookies for her. And I think the question surprised her pleasantly, for she asked me if I was serious. Then, she told me that it'd be great if I could track her down some Samoas.

I didn't know if the sale had already ended, but I told Miss Gibson that I would do what I could. (She told me that, if the Samoa acquisition proved difficult, I could instead bring her a York Peppermint Patty and a Butterfinger. I'm SHOCKED that London doesn't have Butterfingers.)

So I checked with my suppliers, a woman named Faneshia in my office and my high school friend Dena, and I told them it was an emergency. Yes, I used the word 'EMERGENCY' in big capital letters.

Faneshia told me that she had three boxes of Samoas left at her house. So I ran over to her cubicle, threw down four Sacajawea dollars that I got last night at a parking deck and secured that Miss Gibson's box of Samoas would be delivered in the morning.

Then, I e-mailed Miss Gibson and told her of my success with my supplier. (I felt like I'd just bought heroin or something.)

Miss Gibson told me that Customs probably wouldn't seize them, so, upon my arrival Sunday morning in London, Miss Gibson should be able to enjoy her special American cookies.