In pizza, we must

by Lorin Michel Friday, May 27, 2016 10:39 PM

By the time Friday arrives, the amount of food in the house has dwindled. This is because I usually go shopping on Saturday and I stock up for the week. By the time Friday arrives, there is usually a blackening banana in the fruit bowl and one mushroom left in the vegetable drawer. There’s a swish of half and half left in the carton, a couple of sheets of paper towel on the roll. We’re usually down a jar of Raos pasta sauce and a box of pasta, the bags of cheese are nearly empty, as is the carton of eggs. Dwindled. This Friday is no exception. 

This is the situation I find myself in today. With nothing to eat and of what I do have, nothing I want to cook. 

I entertained going to the grocery store today instead of my usual Saturday morning but opted against it for no reason other than I simply wasn’t in the mood. I’m tired. And I’ve been working all day, and it’s the start of a long holiday weekend, the first of the summer, and like I said, I just wasn’t in the mood. It would be very busy out there, traffic wise, and the grocery store would be overflowing with people stocking up for the weekend, for camping trips and barbecues, parties and whatever else people do on three-day weekends. 

So I’ll go tomorrow. And I’ll stock up on mushrooms and bananas and eggs and orange juice and toilet paper and whatever else I need to keep the house running for the next week. With Justin here, I have to get more than usual and I have to remember to do that. I’ve been so used to shopping for just two; it’s been a long time since I shopped for three.

I’ll go to Petco, too, to stock up on Riley’s food. I buy a 30-pound bag of dog food, Natural Balance, each month. Our boy eats a lot. Three and a half cups a day. 

He’ll also get a bath tomorrow, our boy. I gave him a bath last week, but I think he might be allergic to the shampoo I used. He’s been itchy and he has a bit of a rash under his fur, near his tail. He keeps trying to bite it, to make the itch stop. It’ll be warm tomorrow, too, so he’ll be dry in no time, fur flying, shedding like a big dog, happy as he can be, clean and sparkly. With fresh dog food.

It’s Friday. No one has any food. And that means pizza for dinner. 

We have a great place not too far from here. I’ll order it and then drive in to pick it up. I haven’t been out of the house all week. I’ll climb into the Range Rover and drive down Catalina Highway. I’ll open the sunroof and crank the music. I love to drive at night when the air is cool and there’s little traffic. I’ll pull up to Rosati’s and get our pizza, or maybe our two pizzas, perhaps a Caesar salad. I’ll get back into the car, fire up the lights and take off, flying toward home. The smell of pizza will flood the car. And I will be free … 

… of groceries, of dog food, of chores at least until tomorrow. As an added bonus, I’ll be able to feed my family. Or, in the immortal words of George W. Bush, I’ll be able to “put food on my family.” 

Because I don’t have any food in the house, or at least no food I want to make, and I’m tired, and wasn’t in the mood for the grocery store. And so, in pizza, I must trust.

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