I ruined dinner tonight.
One of these days I’ll figure out that using a spoon to measure out spices is wiser than just opening the lid, and tap-tap-tapping at the opening, in the assumption that the correct amount will magically fall out, instead of half of the ding-dang jar.
But until that time arrives, we can always fall back and rely on the either of the two fine pizza establishments here in the little town of Poolesville. We have Cugini’s, and Kristopher’s. Poolesville used to have a Dominos, but the other two pizza joints are really so good at what they do, even a big chain didn’t stand a chance. So naturally, when I finished mopping up the tears of frustration from my latest dinner fiasco with my favorite apron, I reached for the phone.
Kristopher’s was the chosen pizza joint tonight. We try to spread the wealth between the two places. Er…not to say that their services are required THAT often….ahem….
The pizza order conversation went a little like this:
“Pick up, or delivery?”
“Pick up please.”
“What can I get for you?”
“An extra-large, half plain cheese, half pepperoni please.”
“You want the new Extra Large?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Half an hour.”
Now, at this point, many of you might ask me, “Aren’t you curious about what they meant about “New” Extra-Large?” Well, dear readers, no. Frankly what my frazzled brain knows is that it takes an Extra Large to satiate me, and still have enough left over to give scraps to my family. I don’t need to know the nitty-gritty details of what it is, I just know that I need it.
I arrived at the allotted half hour mark, and in I went to pay and pick up. I paid, and they hefted a super thick, heavy-duty, reinforced cardboard, 2-foot square box to the counter. And for the first time since the phone order, my two brain cells actually clicked.
“Er, that isn’t MY pizza, is it?”
“Eyup. The new Extra Large. 24″. A full 2 feet.”
“And what will this cost me?”
There was a moment of silence as the enormity of what I’d done hit me. Not only had I wasted money ruining dinner, but now I had also carelessly ordered enough food for a small army. Or John Candy. But he’s dead.
I sighed. The cashier, a young, attractive lass, looked hesitantly at me, as if she were expecting me to go ballistic or something. I fear others before me may have.
So I smiled at her, and the gentleman who made my pizza pie behind her, and then I winked, and said, “Well hell, if SOME is good, MORE is better!”
They both visibly relaxed and agreed wholeheartedly. And the gentleman kindly offered to cut the slices smaller so my kids could handle them easier. I did note that he didn’t offer to cut them smaller for me…which makes sense because one look at me and anyone can tell this ain’t my first rodeo. I’m a seasoned pie veteran. Believe you me, I know my way around an unwieldy piece of pie. And when you’re that good, it shows.
They wished me good luck as I left; I hauled it out to my car, and carefully put the box on top of the hood……
….because transporting this little gem in my little Chevy Equinox was going to require me to move the seat back in order to fit it in.
I had to move my car seats, folks. Now THAT is an Extra Large.
When Critter and Varmint saw the box, they reacted differently. A gleam came into Varmint’s eyes, reminiscent of a warrior who has just received a challenge. I know that look well. She got it from me.
But Critter….Critter actually looked scared. With his big brown eyes, he beheld the ginormous box dubiously, then glanced with concern back up at me, and then back to box. Then he simply whispered,
“I don’t think I’m going to want dessert.”
A pizza that takes the desire for sugar away from Critter?
My standards have just been raised. Well played, Kristopher’s Pizza.