Pizza For One Can Be Fun

On Sunday, I ordered a pizza basically just for me. Yes, Eddie was there, but he's not a huge pizza-eater (yet). He'll just have a few picked-off toppings and then gnaw on a bit of crust for awhile, so you really can't count him for that. It's super-rare that I order a pizza for only little old me and each time I do it, I am reminded of the first time I ever had a pizza all to myself. 19 and in my second semester of my sophomore year, I'd moved into a single dorm room. I'd ordered pizza plenty, but never just for me. It's such a communal food, I'd really never seriously considered getting one just for me, and in a dorm, there's almost always someone else around who'll go in on one with you. When there wasn't, I usually ordered a hoagie or wings. One night, it was a weeknight, and I think maybe a Wednesday, not that that matters, I really, really wanted pizza. No one wanted to order one, and I returned to my room, dejected. I wanted pizza! Maybe, I thought, I'll just order a small. I'm sure they hate that, but I want pizza! Looking at the menu it occurred to me - I had a fridge, I had a microwave - I could get a WHOLE LARGE PIZZA and put away what I didn't want for later. Maybe you think that sounds obvious, but for me, living alone for the first time in my life, it was a revelation. Proof of my total independence and freedom. I called the pizza place almost guiltily, as though they'd know this whole pizza would be eaten by one greedy little girl. I ordered only Extra Cheese, because that's what I wanted and I didn't need to tolerate the pepperoni for the person who was really in the mood for it, or worry that "Extra cheese is just extra fat" as my one friend always argued. I wonder if I sounded vaguely surprised when the Pizza Order Guy said "Okay, about 20 minutes" and told me the price "Really? Great!!". When the pizza arrived I squirreled it back to my room, expecting someone to materialize and try to share it with me. No one said a word. I sat on the floor, warm, delicious-scented box in front of me and admired it for a moment. I opened it and inhaled the steamy aroma of my very own whole giant pizza. I was tempted, briefly to try and eat the whole thing, but I wanted to enjoy my gluttony, not die from it. To this moment, I can still remember biting into the first slice. A greasy, perfect burst of My-Own-Ness that I hope I never forget. I savored that piece, probably the slowest I ever ate anything. I felt decadent and a little naughty, cross-legged on the floor, with a pizza box, no plate at all, and several cans of pop. After a few pieces, I gleefully wrapped up the rest and put it in my fridge. I ate a couple pieces each night, my night-time snack, but I grinned at the pizza every time I opened the fridge. Sunday I ordered a pizza with onions, green peppers, hot sausage, tomatoes and extra cheese (to hold on the toppings, I was afraid the regular cheese wouldn't be up to the job). The Husband would have hated it, he doesn't "do" veggies on his pizza. I briefly considered getting it half plain, or with pepperoni, so that when he got home, we would both have leftover pizza, but in the end, I wanted that All-to-Myself feeling that is even less common now that I'm a mommy. There are still two pieces sitting in the fridge, making me smile each time I open the fridge. Maybe I'll eat them tonight, or maybe save them one more day, eat them tomorrow when the Husband is at work and the baby's in bed and I can pretend I'm a single college girl, alone in my own world with my own pizza.