Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Love Among the Germans

I had lunch with Drummer Boy today. We ate at Pie Five. Do you know Pie Five? Do they have them where you live? It's a place where you custom build your own personal-size pizza, which is then fired in a super-hot oven on a conveyor belt. Delicious. Also, they have The Machine.

*cue choirs of angels*
I would pretty much swallow Donald Trump's lies if I could wash them down with raspberry-lemon Coke Zero. Or not. But still.

Anyway, I had a delicious pie with buffalo ranch sauce, chicken, cheddar and mozzarella cheese, and sun-dried tomatoes on a thick crust. Drummer Boy had some concoction made of five kinds of dead farm animals, banana peppers, and black olives.

I was raving about how good mine was, and he was raving about how good his was. The difference is, of course, that I knew my pizza was good, while his was an abomination featuring foods that could be considered torture devices if you forced me eat them.

At one point, when I had eaten three of my six slices, he glanced at my remaining portion of heaven and said (and I quote), "Can I have a taste?" Pause. "That's a lot of pie. That looks like more than you can eat." Pause. "Can I have a slice?"

Well, I'm in love, so what am I going to do, say no, keep your mitts off my sovereign pizza, you bastard? I let him have an entire 16.667% of my lunch. All the while, we both knew that there was no way I was going to ask for a slice of his quid pro quo. Because to my mind, banana peppers and black olives are God's punishment for that whole eating the apple thing way back when.

"I give you shame, and these nasty fuckers. God out."
So he ended up with seven slices of pizza and I ended up with five (although, to be fair, mine were 100% awesome while his were 1/7 awesome and 6/7 covered with goddamn banana peppers and black olives). But that is OK. That is fine. That is wonderful.

Because as we were setting our pies and drinks on our chosen table, he made some random comment that I don't even remember, and I responded frantically, "Don't mention the war!" And we both dissolved in giggles.

I think I got away with it all right.
Because if I can quote "Fawlty Towers," and you can roll with it, then we're all right.

Google it if you need to (glares disapprovingly).

But the next time Drummer Boy conspires to take one of my pizza slices, I may have to go full Sybil on him.

Love you, Drummer Boy.


  1. A make-your-own-pizza place sounds like life imitating Seinfeld.
    Still it's a huge improvement over Gourmet Night when the only choices we had were duck with cherries, duck with orange, and duck surprise--which was duck without orange or cherries.
    And the rest of the week it was just a big trough of baked beans garnished with a couple of dead dogs.

  2. Well, it doesn't get more true love than that. Cinderella had it all wrong. And all other princesses. Or maybe they didn't have pizza at the time yet. (need to do more research)

  3. I love my husband, but I hate giving up my pizza because his typically has mushrooms, so it's never an even swap. Errrgh. Also, we both love Watery Fowls.

