Critical Pizza Mass

One of the nice things about technology is, when you order something online it gives you a record that you can use to show them how badly they screwed up your order. Friday nights, I generally don’t feel like cooking (oh wait, that’s every night), so I ordered a pizza online. Forty minutes later our order shows up. The delivery guy hands me a pizza and a box of wings.  I say, “This isn’t for us. We ordered two pizzas.” He stares at the bill intently and says, “Perhaps there was a mix-up with your order.”

“Perhaps?”

He tells me he’ll head back to the store and get it rectified.  Forty minutes later he comes back with our two pizzas. We are so happy because we are starving at this point. We open the box and the toppings are all wrong. Seriously. So call them back to tell them the order is wrong again…and they suggest sending me another two pizzas. At another 40 minutes we’ll be having dinner tomorrow. So we come to a mutually-agreeable credit arrangement since I was somewhat unconvinced that the next pizza would be entirely correct.

I went to the fridge and grabbed some salad, which unfortunately had turned into a science experiment. Hmmm, no vegetables.  Do I make another salad?  (I’m starving.) But wait, there is pineapple on the pizza. Fruit is close to a vegetable, so it will suffice and my ability to provide nutritious meals for my children will be sustained.

Being that we had been waiting for some time we sat down and INHALED our pizza. Several slices in, I hit the moment of “Okay stop. You are reaching critical pizza mass”.  I said to my son, “Oh I think I ate too many carbs. I’m ‘carb-erated.'” Which struck me as hysterically funny. “Carb-erated? Get it?”  I said, doubled over with laughter.

He didn’t think it was funny. He gave me that look. You know the look teenagers get when they’re looking at their parents—absolutely deadpan—and secretly thinking, “Please tell me I’m adopted and not part of this gene pool.”

He seemed unconvinced. I stressed, “It’s funny. It’s witty.” He forced a chuckle. I said, “You don’t seem to be laughing with me. You’re laughing at me.” To which he replied, “You make it so easy some days Mom.”

I quickly realized, however, when one is carb-erated, it requires you to sit down immediately in front of the TV with a cup of tea and put your feet up to effectively aid in your digestion rendering you incapable of cleaning up the kitchen.  Who’s laughin’ now?

Mantra of the day:  Ha! Ha! Ha!

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