Diary of a Pizza Virgin
AKA Fifty Shades of Marinara
I was only fifteen at the time, a mere waif, innocent and unfamiliar with the ways of the culinary world. My world view was circumscribed by Chicken nuggets, big Macs, Double downs, and Twinkies. What did I know? I had just traded in my bubble gum and training bra when Jimmy Bob and pizza came into my life. I was totally unprepared for it. And nothing has been the same ever since.
I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was a warm summer night. Jimmy and I had just come back from the senior hop. He suggested we check out the scenery at the football field. I said, “Why not?” Before I knew it I had fallen under his hypnotic gaze. There I lay, stretched out in his arms under the bleachers beneath the star-filled sky and the warm gaze of a full moon.
Slowly ever so tenuously, I reached out for Jimmy Bob’s hand. He said, “Close your eyes.” Before I knew it I felt something warm in my palm. I clenched it tight. It was a sensation which I was unfamiliar with—warm and squishy. Its aroma made me dizzy, carrying me to heights I had never known before… Canadian bacon and pineapple!
I hesitated for a moment. “Go ahead,” Billy Bob urged. “Take it in your mouth; curl your tongue gently about it; let your teeth sink into it ever so gently.” I took a cautious but resolute gobble, and then in one fell swoop quickly devoured it. But I couldn’t stop with just one. I reached into the box and took out another… and yet another. The roof of my mouth burned with passion. There was no stopping me. I was like an animal possessed. Such ecstasy! Such joy!
Afterwards, the empty cardboard box lay on the ground in tatters—ravaged. I don’t remember much more about that evening, only Mama commenting about the lateness of the hour …and the tiny red stain on my skirt.
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