Posts Tagged ‘Pizza’

Fantasy vs Science Fiction

Mark:  “If you could wish for ANYTHING, what would you wish for?”

Mark’s friend:  “Hmm…I have to think.  What would you wish for?”

Mark:  “To control time.”

Mark’s friend:  “A slice of pizza that you could eat as many times as you want but it always regenerates.  You know, it disappears and comes back.  So you can eat it again.”

Mark:  “Regenerates WITHOUT saliva.”

Fine Dining

So today is Kate’s birthday, and we’re going shopping and out to lunch with her Grandma.

Usually Kate is fond of Panera, particularly the towering pyramid of whipped cream on the hot chocolate during the winter.

So I ask, “Would you like to go to Panera for lunch?”

“No,” she says.  “Someplace fancier.”

Uh-oh.  I wasn’t really planning on a sit-down lunch today.

But she continues:   “That sells pizza.”

Whew!  The food court it is!

New Proverb

So Mark and I are at Costco.  Like always after we finish our shopping, we stop for lunch at their awesomely-underpriced snack bar.  Mark gets a ‘piece’ of pizza that’s actually a fourth of a large pie and a ‘purple milkshake’, which is really a berry smoothie.  I get a diet coke.  All for less than five bucks.  (This takes some of the sting out of the four hundred that just got sucked out of my checking account for the cartload sitting beside us.  But not much.)

Me (after a few minutes):  “Aren’t you going to eat your pizza?”

Mark (one fingertip prodding the cheesy top):  “It’s too hot.”  He slurps happily at the smoothie.

Me (after a few more minutes):  “How about now?”

Mark (giving the pizza a two-finger jab this time):  “Still too hot.”  He takes a deep breath and nods sagely.  “You know what they say.  Hot pizza, hot hands.”

Ready for College

So Brian’s been taking Mark to daycare, which means Mark’s been riding the bus with his Dad.  This is pretty exciting for him.  It’s one of the goals for which he left the house on his multiple solo excursions.

Everyone remembers that, right?  The morning about a year ago when I was getting dressed and saw a little blue dot walking down the middle of the street…and then realized it was Mark in his jammies.  I go tearing outside, of course.


Mark (in an offended, pitying tone, because the answer was so obvious):  “I’m going to the bus stop.  I’m going to work with Dad.”

Me (not thinking clearly yet):  “YOU’RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!  THE BUS STOP IS THAT WAY!”

So now Mark’s achieved this goal, and he’s ready for bigger things.  Like breakfast.  But not just any breakfast.  The breakfast of champions.  Or at least grown-ups.  Or at least undergrads.

Brian’s dropping him off early enough that Mark has breakfast at daycare.  This morning:

Mark’s teacher:  “What would like, Mark?  Cereal?  Toast?”

Mark:  “Do you have any cold pizza?”

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