Deliver Me From Pizza


My insatiable appetite for cheese, combined with the limitations of house arrest, has become a problem recently.  I’ve never had much of a sweet tooth, so I got lucky in that regard, but I have always had a taste for inhaling inappropriately large servings of cheese.  Ever since my cheese club membership ran out last month, I’ve been getting worse.  I’ve more than made up for the lost membership by having a veritable revolving door of delivery men coming through.  It’s been an ugly scene here.

Being on house arrest, my options for seeking food are pretty limited.  I basically either arm myself to the teeth at the grocery store during Essential Leave every week, anticipating everything I could possibly want to eat for the next seven days, or I find myself ordering delivery after scoffing at the selection in my kitchen.

After four consecutive days of ordering pizza this week, I flashed ahead eight months to when I’m released, and I pictured them having to knock down one of the walls of my apartment with a backhoe because I can no longer fit through a standard door frame- only to hoist me onto a heavy load bearing motorized cart that will wheel me onto a sound stage where Maury Povich will help me confront my morbid obesity.

I made the difficult decision to delete Domino’s number on my phone today, like so many other ill-fated relationships, and I’ve sworn never to Google him or look on his Facebook page again.  Pizza Hut and Thai World can still be on my roster though, because we’ve always kept it casual.

Off to the gym!

220 days to go.

(145 days in!!!)

The last delivery 🙁