Mmm… Pizza
My years slaving away at a Pizza Hut, before I got my wits about me and went back to school, really gained me a very important talent. If my wife demands a pizza when I get home from working a strenuous day sitting in my $650 Herman Miller Aeron Chair, I can do it, and I can do it well.
She asks so much of me. Lovingly, hand-made dough, sausage, mushroom, and, just a bit, of basil on the top for color. What else could a woman ask for in a man? I could maybe clean up after myself, I guess.
Mason saw a picture of himself on iPhoto tonight, and said, “Wow.” Kind of whispered it, really. Twice.
Not to be outdone, Violet drew me a picture of a monster.
