Tonight, the girlfriend thinks we are having pizza for dinner.
I have a sweet gig working from home. Yep, I wear gym shorts every day to work in my home office, while the girlfriend dresses up and click clacks out of the house in fancy shoes each morning. Therefore, it’s my role every day to figure out what we’re having for dinner and to make it.
And no, I do not make Easy Mac and Pizza Rolls for dinner. What most people might be surprised to learn about me—especially my mother—is that I am, in fact, quite good in the kitchen. Some nights, I even get all Top Chef in the place, like these pico de gallo black bean burgers I was whipping up earlier in the week. No problem. And next week, I’m busting out the avocado panna cotta with pickled ramps and tomato. Hell, yes.
I don’t even know what the fuck that is. I just copied it off a website. I hope it’s vegetarian.
Naturally, we eat a lot of pizza. It’s my favorite food. They say normal people cycle through their menu every ten days, meaning the average lover of pizza will eat it once every ten days. I think I probably cycle through my menu every five to seven. Pizza is on the menu in our house once a week.
As you can see in the photograph at the top, I’ve set out a pizza, two plates, and seasoning shakers on the table for dinner tonight. Since we already had pizza once this week, I expect the girlfriend will be slightly disappointed when she walks in the door and sees that pizza is on the table for dinner, again.
Except, in the spirit of Halloween, it’s a trick.
And here’s the treat: I don’t have a back up plan. THERE IS NO REAL DINNER YET. HA HA HA! HEE HEE HEE! And I haven’t done the dishes! Weeee! And I haven’t changed into real clothes all day. HO HO HO!
WORKING FROM HOME IS AWESOME.
Outside, I finally hear her car pull up. I hear the beep beep of the clicky thing that makes her car lock. I hear her coming up the apartment hallway. Click clack click clack up the stairs. Her key in the door.
Straight face. Straight face. Looking at this internet thing. Very interesting. Fascinating. Straight, serious face.
She’s in. “Hi, honey.”
I look up feebly, and nod.
“Did you get pizza?”
I remain silent, already back to my computer, so I don’t laugh.
“You got pizza again? Or is that the pizza box from this week?”
I REALLY MUST FOCUS ON THIS INTERNET THING.
“Why would you sit the pizza box from last week on the table?”
Oh shit, she’s not biting. She walks over to the table to have a closer look.
“And you set the table by yourself?”
WHY MUST YOU INTERROGATE ME ABOUT THE PIZZA. I CANNOT ANSWER THESE QUESTIONS BECAUSE I WILL GIVE MYSELF AWAY. MUST REMAIN SILENT AND PRETEND TO BE FULLY ENGROSSED BY THIS INTERNET THING.
Finally, she opened the box, suspicious from my silence and the fact that I had set the table, which I never do.
Delicious roasted finger and grilled eyeball pizza with a blood puree sauce.
She laughed. “You are so silly. Is that cocktail sauce?”
Yes, it’s cocktail sauce. We don’t have the standard for blood, ketchup, in our refrigerator. I guess we’re weirdos.
“What’s really for dinner?”
HA HA HA. HO HO. HEE HEE…
Hee. ha ha.
HAPPY FRIDAY. Make it a spooky one!