comfort pizza

I discovered the discomfort of the suffocating contraption that is the “training bra” long before my schoolmates. One day I was a happy 5th grader dominating a game on Knockout during recess, getting .50 cent ice cream on Fridays, and volunteering to read first during Popcorn, and the next I felt like a total leper. Suddenly one day there was a weird strap stubbornly playing peekaboo through my white Nike t-shirt, just like our MOMS had, and everyone noticed. When you’re a kid, being different is just about the worst thing to happen to you, so I stopped volunteering for Popcorn and cried a in the bathroom a lot when boys asked me what “that” was during lunch.

To celebrate good times, or to put a Band-Aid over the bad, my mom would treat me to a girls night. We brought out the big guns for our nights in together: Tony’s Pepperoni Pizza, a huge glass of Diet Coke, and Milk Duds. She introduced me to old movies she loved and sometimes they were even rated PG. Nights like this always made me blissfully happy. As the year progressed, I was also generously gifted a headgear and zits, and was forced to discover the art of applying deodorant, so there were quite a few mother daughter pizza party nights to enjoy. Developing early is hard. Fancy that.

“In a movie you would have been the hottest girl in school though,” my now-husband said when I told him my sob story for the first time. This made me think two things: 1. Real life is nothing like the movies – DUH, and 2. Maybe I was the  hottest girl in school and didn’t even know it! Of course number two is not true, but what IF!? It’s healthy to lie to yourself every now and then.

Last night wasn’t a record book night by any means. It was a normal Wednesday except that Brent and I had ordered a new rug with our newlywed gift cards months ago and it finally arrived. We got our rental house a little bit closer to “having it all together,” so to celebrate and comfort ourselves after much physical labor, like my mother daughter good-old-days, we made a pizza. Store-bought Pillsbury pizza crust, pesto, nearly a pound of prosciutto, and thick slices of buffalo mozzarella came together to build a simple evening of contentment. And it was good.




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