An Open Love Letter To Pizza
I have finally realized how much I love you. It's a love that runs deeper than a sh*tty vodka tonic at a bar and getting dressed to impress the bitches at the pregame.
Last Thursday, when I opted out of going to the bar, I walked into Walmart in six inch heels and a peplum top for the only thing open at that hour where I could get the only thing that would satisfy me.
Pizza, it doesn't matter if you are frozen or gourmet, I'll take spending the night with you over going to a sweaty college bar any day of the week.
So thank you. Thank you for keeping one thing consistent in my life. It doesn't matter where I am, what I'm doing, or how much cash I have in my pocket. The chances of me stumbling into a Papa Johns or a family-run pizza joint are in my favor.
I know that my hunger always has the possibility to be solved when you are near. Since you always know how to make me feel better, I have compiled a list of things that describe the reasons why I love you so much:
-Your cheesy goodness goes perfectly with just about everything: bacon, mushrooms, chicken, and even spinach. (But you are obviously perfect in your own, naked state.)
-You're healthy! I mean, how can bread, tomatoes and cheese be bad for you? I'm getting the majority of my important and necessary food groups in one triangular masterpiece.
-Pinterest loves you. Whether your crust is made from cauliflower or chickpeas, pinterest will make my mouth salivate from gorgeous photos of you cooked to perfection.
-I can get your for a dollar or for twenty, either way you're amazing.
-Artichoke Pizza. If you know New York, then you already know.
-As a child, I went to Chuck E Cheese for the pizza, not the games.
-You can be as fancy as flat bread or a Totino's pizza roll. Diverse and perfect for any occasion.
Pizza flavored Pringles.
-You are better than any significant other, you stay on my hips forever and I don't mind this at all!
This list is minimal compared to the things you have done for me on a daily basis and now I've even incorporated you into my style. With the recent Miley twerking craze also came food-decorated clothing. If I said I didn't own a legging/crop top pizza decorated ensemble then I would be lying.
Okay, I lied. I don't own that outfit, but that doesn't mean that I haven't thought about buying it (poor college student problems). If I pair it with a beanie that says “DOPE” across the top then I would definitely get picked up at the bar.
You see, P, I hope it's okay that I call you P; you do so much for me. On days in high school when I forgot my lunch, I knew that you were the only decent thing to eat in the wretched lunchroom. And now in college, you are the only thing that I can eat at three in the morning and not feel THAT bad about.
Whether you're on a bagel, in a triangle or a square, I am satisfied. From the moment my lips touch your hot, savory crust I know that I have found serenity. You're as classy as Audrey Hepburn in the 1960s.
You went great with my birthday cake at my sixth grade roller rink party and now you are even better at four in the morning on my way home from the bar for only one dollar. So P, thank you for always being there for me.
From my Chuck E Cheese birthday party to my roommate's latest breakup, you have been perfect for every occasion, no matter the mood because you just know how to make people happy.
Girl who eats her feelings
Top Photo Credit: Cheese Pizza via Shutterstock
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