When the moon hits yer eye

Today, at work, since we weren't home in sweatpants like we had all PLANNED, we ordered pizza. Ordering lunch to be delivered at work is pretty indulgent. No fetching, no wind, no winter, no scarf that smells like breath over my mouth and nose.

We placed a Papa John's order at 12:15. We called to confirm. They said about an hour.

We were overjoyed! PIZZA! On a cold day! The fat will keep us warm! Pepperoni will keep us alive! With the coupon it was like $4 each with a generous tip for the delivery person.

We sent around emails being thrilled! Hurrah! Pizza jokes! Pizza face! Pizza, pizza, pizza!!!!!!

So we waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Until we said "F this" and threw in the towel.

We called the store. And called and called. The phone kept ringing and ringing, and eventually we had Papa John's CORPORATE cancel our order because we were starving NOW. And while we realize that ordering out on a day where everyone and their MOTHER probably wanted to order in, and cancelling was crappy, we waited well over 2 hours. We were defeated.

So everyone else went to Subway and I had low-fat split pea soup that has lived in my desk since about October. The moment was gone. Gone was my desire to eat something crazy fattening and different. I was going to punish myself with a boring lunch for tempting fate. It was only right.

Also I didn't want to go outside. If all was right with the world and I was home in soft pants, I wouldn't have gone outside anyway. I abide by snow day rules on rightful snow days.

When everyone returned, we chatted about a friend's brithday and then how everyone is finding my seventeen-year-old vocabulary coming out out of our twenty (and thirty!) something mouths. Totes. Betch. W00t! OMG!

Then we went "back to work".

At 3:15 our pizzas arrived.

Fate is cruel.