By Jim Hagarty
2012
I am a moody guy sometimes and my mood often coincides with the number of pizza slices left in the box on pizza night at our place. If they disappear too quickly before I can get my share, my mood is inclined to decline.
That is why today I was in an upbeat state of mind when I found out that my son and my daughter would not be home for supper and that my wife would be late. So, by mid-afternoon my plan was clear: I would sneak off to the pizza shop about 4:30 and return with a piping hot pie which I would enjoy all by myself. Just the very thought of this impending gorgefest made me smile – my very own pizza and pop, in front of the TV, watching shows I rarely see when the house is fully occupied.
I made sure to get the pizza early so that if someone did unexpectedly return home, all of it would be long gone. I have no conscience when it comes to pizza.
I drove to the restaurant and waited in the van while the pizza guy cooked me up a delicious meal. I drove home happily, the smell of the cheese and pepperoni filling my vehicle and my heart with joy. I walked into the house and set the box on the kitchen counter, joking cheerily with the dog and salivating at the great taste about to infiltrate my mouth.
Then I saw him. My son, sitting on the couch, surfing the net on his laptop.
“Oh, you’re home,” I said, trying to disguise my chagrin. “You’re in luck. I brought home a pizza. Help yourself.” As I said that, I was calculating how much of the pie I would now get. It was, after all, just a medium. Two minutes later, the phone rang. On the line was my daughter who said she was coming home and bringing a friend.
“Have you had supper?” I asked. “No,” was the reply. “Well, there’s a pizza here.”
Now, three young people would be attacking my pizza and I knew from experience, that could mean only one thing – not one morsel would be left for me. I had gone, in a few minutes, from a happy guy anticipating his own pizza and pop in front of the TV in a house all by myself to a silently starving, defeated man sizing up the remaining supper choice which involved bread and peanut butter and milk.
I know I will smile again someday, but as of now, my heart is broken. Sliced in eight pieces, you might say.
