Pizza Love

I suspect there is a new pyramid scheme starting, a plot to fatten.  It’s diabolical.  Someone gave a friend a box containing seventy-five pizzas from one of those gigantic superstores, no doubt regretting their foolish purchase. That is neither a typo nor exaggeration.  There were actually seventy- five pizzas left.  She wagged it home, split it into three separate bundles and put them in the freezer.  Her twenty-year-old son still lives at home.  He was on that pizza like a dog on a bone, joyously heaping those basic pizzas with every added topping he could ferret out, extra cheese, mushroom, sausage, hotdogs, hamburger, and extra sauce.  The original pizzas looked like layer cakes by the time he was ready to eat.  He had pizza for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and frequent snacks.  Tired of watching him grow pizza by pizza, his cruel mom sacked up the fifty remaining pizzas and divided between her mom and her sister.

She needn’t have wasted the time sending pizza to Grandma’s house.  Her boy sniffed it out and beat a steady path to Grandma’s, working on the stack adding Grandma’s cheese, sauce, and various toppings, including Vienna Sausage.  The only thing the move accomplished was to get him a bit of exercise and quality time with Grandma’s freezer,  Grandma tired of seeing his expanding backside sticking out of her freezer, so she sent the remaining pizza home with her sister who had a pizza-loving daughter and husband.  They jumped on the pizza, diving in at all hours.  Both were worried about their weight long before that pizza found its way to their freezer.  It wasn’t good.

The other bundle of pizza went home with her delighted brother-in-law who thoroughly enjoyed the pain on the young man’s face as the pizza left.  After a couple of days, the sister called.  She’d come in and found her hubby and pudgy daughter in a pizza-induced carbohydrate-stupor.  Hubby had sneaked the pizza in and hidden it from her.  She’d had both of them on a low-carb diet for weeks and now they’d nearly overdosed on bad pizza.  She was livid.

I wonder if they’ll all get a call in a few days offering a time-share fat-farm and two for one stretch pants for nineteen ninety-nine, shipping and handling extra.