Growing up, pizza was more than pizza. It was family time with sauce on top. Ordering a pizza meant Mom (or Dad, depending on whose house we were at) didn’t have to cook, so they were usually in high spirits. High enough to let us drink soda at dinner or watch a Rated R movie or stay up ’til midnight. Just as long as we did it together.
Now that I live in Mexico, pizza night is an extra special occasion. As much as I hate to admit it, pepperoni will always taste like home. In my early days in San Cris, I celebrated quite a few pizza nights all by my lonesome — with soda, a Rated R movie, and a midnight bedtime — to keep tradition alive. Unfortunately, when eaten alone, pepperoni just tastes like homesickness.
Then along came Roberto, who also happened to love pepperoni (for his own reasons) and pizza night was back in all its glory. Pair it with Sprite (shame on me) and a Rated R movie and we’re in business! (What can I say? The heart wants what it wants.)
So, last night, when Roberto proposed pizza, I proposed marriage — with a Sci-Fi movie soundtrack. (Full disclosure: it was only PG-13.)
Turns out, the way I loved pizza night growing up was only a preview for the way I’d feel about it today.
Eating pepperoni pizza with Roberto is like the ultimate homecoming. Chicago and Chiapas all in one. When Roberto suggests it, I swoon.
Wedding #40. Pizza, lemon lime soda, and chocolate ice cream for dessert. How’s that for a wedding menu?