It's entirely possible I may have been ordering Pizza a little too often around here.
The number one sign would have been the accumulation of empty pizza boxes in my house. Which is sort of justified. You aren't supposed to throw cardboard in the regular garbage, so in order to throw them out I either have to hide them in a garbage bag which means breaking them down, or I have to recycle them which means breaking them down.
Taking the garbage out is Asshat #2's job. It happens reliably one week out of four. Do you really think he's going to remember to take out the recycle bins one day later? Do you think I want to spend an hour after I get home sorting and preparing the recycling so the driver won't throw it all over the side of the road?
Ain't nobody got time for that!
Then there's the fact that the first thing I noticed when I entered my bedroom tonight was that my mom (who was over and folded laundry for me today!) had taken away the pizza box that was on the printer.
And maybe the one that was on the side of the bed I don't sleep on. What? It was a baby pizza so there was plenty of room in my queen bed for it and me. Pizza boxes don't snore or fart either.
The biggest clue though is the dog. My normally timid dog will greet you like an old friend if you are carrying a red pizza bag. There are people he has known since he was a puppy that make him run for his life when he sees them. Okay, he doesn't really run for his life. He runs for his mommy, and then cowers behind my legs shivering.
But the pizza delivery guy is always a friend. Any pizza delivery guy - he loves them all.
He's a slut like that.
Tonight someone just pulled into the neighbors. The dog started running around crying and puppy yipping like there was a bunny in the yard or his gramma was here.
I firmly believe he thought the pizza guy was here. Probably because that's exactly how he acted the last time we had pizza.
So yes, it's entirely possible I've been ordering pizza way to often.