PIZZA

Man, I thought I was so cool last night.

I went over to Drew’s to watch Survivor, and we decided to order a pizza. Now, a couple weeks ago, we had ordered pizza, and I made a mental note of the toppings Drew liked: eggplant, onion and mushroom. I picked up the phone to order and asked him if that’s what he wanted again. “So, Drew, should we get your usual? Eggplant, mushroom and onion?” He was impressed with my memory (which — and he doesn’t know this yet — is usually terrible), and I scored some big points. Go, Jerry, go!

But he didn’t feel like having the same thing again and just yelled to me from the bedroom, where he was changing out of his work clothes, to get whatever I wanted. So I ordered my usual: ground beef and onion.

What I forgot was this: Drew doesn’t eat red meat.

Oops.

So when he opened the box 30-45 minutes later and saw the dead cow all over our pie, he got sad. So much for all the points I scored.

He ate the pizza anyway (well, one piece at least), picking off the beef bit by bit. It clearly disgusted him, but obviously, he didn’t want me to feel bad.

So in the end, he scored big points with me, and I came out about even.

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