So, last night, as I do every night, I ate food. This meal is one I call “dinner.” Some call it “supper,” but that sounds like it should only be said with a refined Southern accent to my way of thinking, so I call it “dinner.” Or “din-din.” Or “dying alone slowly alone while watching TV alone… and usually drinking beer…alone.”
Anyway, like I often do, I ordered a pizza. Pizza Hut (or Pizza “Slut” as my bro used to say way back when he worked there in the days of our youth). A large. I usually go with some tasty local places (Victor Jr’s, La Rocco’s) or even Papa John’s (when I get a good coupon via email, because, yeah, I get Papa John’s deal emails), but Pizza Slut appealed to me on that particular evening.
The ‘za (as I sometimes call “pizza” as a joke*, often with “brah” following it for extra humor**) arrived approximately when it was scheduled to, which was swell. And it tasted about how I expected. Now, some folks might make fun, but Pizza Hut was the classy pizza in my town growing up, so I will not make fun of the stuff. I find it delicious.
My usual is to order a ‘za brah, eat about half of it, and then decide to save the rest for later. …At that point, there is always a struggle that lasts about thirty seconds, and I cave, eating the entire pizza pie. The resulting pain and discomfort is something I never remember during the devouring process.
Last night, however, I ate half and… decided to leave it at that. I stuck to my guns. I was very proud of myself, then inconsolably saddened and terrified by the fact that I feel proud for only eating HALF A LARGE PIZZA. Still… my stomach didn’t hurt, and yet I was no longer hungry. I hope to apply this way of thinking to my life henceforth, but I don’t know if I trust myself when confronted with pizza. History will tell if this triumphant bit of common sense was an isolated incident.
I pray it is not, though, as I don’t want to have to buy new clothes and am increasingly unhappy with pictures of me on Facebook. Also, stairs. Good lord! Am I right?
And don’t say I should eat fruit or vegetables or something instead of pizza. I need to work my way to true healthiness slowly and carefully, so I’m starting with trying to defeat my inherent gluttony. Wish me luck. Or don’t. Up to you.
* Like many weird words and phrases I use, “za brah” started as a joke — but I now sometimes say it without remembering I was making fun of it when I first started saying it. (See also: “dude,” “bro,” “dudebro,” and “brovoloni with cheese.”)
** Or “humour” if you are British.