Sometimes I get sick of cooking. Even in my little family---every meal has to be an event. Even on a weekday. Other families are happy to eat scrambled eggs or even cereal for dinner. But, not mine. Leftovers are even cause for an uprising. My fault....I'm sure. I should have never let them know I could cook. For years, when the sick of cooking bug hit me, I just picked up the phone and called our local pizza man and told him to bring over an extra large with pepperoni. But, once I went lapband, calling the pizza man wasn't the thing to do. It was a good thing really....that meant that my entire family was eating better. Home cooked meals with a focus on healthy, nutritious foods...every damn night. No one seemed to miss those pizza call outs. As long as they were eating, they didn't care much. In fact, no one begged me to stop cooking and call the pizza man. It all went unnoticed. So, even on the longest days....when I was dragging and not in any mood to cook....I cooked. Even if the pizza man did miss me, he didn't call me or send me "miss you" cards or stop by just to see if I was okay. I thought we were friends--that pizza guy and I. I mean, I'd invite him in on cold nights and he even saw my Christmas tree. And, I always tipped him extra. If that's not friendship, I don't know what is. I suppose I didn't matter much to him. Sad, really.
The other night, I just didn't feel like cooking. I was exhausted. I had been running here and there and the stresses of life were just closing in on me. Thinking of cooking was wearing me down.....not to mention that I just didn't have the energy or the inclination to do it. So, mid day, I started thinking that maybe I'd call the pizza man. It got me to thinking.....I had not had a piece of pizza or even a bite of pizza in close to 10 months. It's not that pizza is a forbidden food for lapbanders. In fact, nothing is forbidden. Some foods just don't work well. Take for example....breads. They get all balled up and can get stuck in the small opening (made by the band) of your stomach. After that happens....things could get ugly. So, given the fact that pizza is made from bread....I stayed clear of it. And, like most things I thought I would miss---I didn't miss the pizza. Interestingly, I didn't even miss the idea that I had the option to call the pizza man. But, on this particular night.....the thought of making dinner by picking up the phone was what I needed. Toni was not too keen on the idea. Her protests fell on deaf ears. I wasn't going to cook and that was that. So, despite her request for a healthy home cooked meal, I called the pizza man.
Well, I haven't been the same since the pizza man cometh. It wasn't the fact that he was a new pizza man who wasn't half as cute as the other pizza man (who I thought was my friend). It was because the pizza did what I feared it would do. Yes, that's right. It got ugly. And, not just a little bit ugly. Really ugly. I-think-I-am -going-to-die- right-here-in- the-dining-room ugly. Trust me, the way I was feeling......physically and emotionally.......death by pizza may have been a blessing. It was just one of those days when you want to scream....."what the hell else can go wrong?" But, I worked through the glob of pizza crust. And, I somehow dug deep inside my soul for the will to go on. It took a few agonizing, pitiful hours but I did manage to muster up all of my self-help techniques to dislodge the food and calm my spirit. Thankfully.
It's over. It all is. Me and the pizza man. I gave the best years of my life.....for this. All those years of dedication and kindness. All of those times when the pizza man was my life line and I was his good tipper. Over. It just didn't work out......the pizza man and me.