Well, Liz started off our love letter series with something heartfelt and beautiful. I was there when she read that piece aloud in church a few years ago on Mother’s Day, and let me tell you, there wasn’t a dry mama eye in the house.
Today, I continue our series with something that’s helped me in my mama-hood journey: take-out. It’s slightly less beautiful, but I assure you, very heartfelt.
Dear Homemade Pizza Company –
The other day, I was standing in your store in my neighborhood, and I looked up to read this sign:
“Because you love (the idea of) making dinner.”
That’s when I knew. Homemade Pizza Company, you totally get me.
I am often too tired to cook. Not even physically tired, just emotionally tired. Something isn’t defrosted. I am missing one single ingredient. I read the recipe wrong and forgot to soak or thaw or whatever so that dinner is going to take an extra hour that I just do not have.
These are mostly just annoying circumstances, but they make me reflect on how I am not as organized as I’d like to be. The persistent nagging belief that I am failing as a mother/wife/woman/person/human being. Ugh. Dinner can be so harsh.
But then you come in, Homemade Pizza Company, with your healthy toppings and delicious salads. You are just what the yuppie in me needs – fancy pizza that feels like something I would make if only I was actually making dinner.
I realize it’s absolutely ridiculous to pay more for a pizza that comes uncooked, but I don’t care. It comes out of my oven, so it’s like I made it, right? Let’s just keep telling me that.
To top it off, you have dessert – a big chocolate chip cookie that also comes out of my oven all gooey and delicious. That cookie is just what I need after a long day of trying to balance my kid and my work and not go crazy. Mmmmmm….
Homemade pizza company, you used to be an occasional treat. Now, I have a baby, and you have become a staple. People say babies are expensive, and while I don’t have to pay for diapers and formula, I do have to purchase uncooked pizzas on a cardboard circle more often than I would care to admit, but less often than I actually want to.
I hope all the other yuppies feel the same way so that you will never go out of business and you will always be there to solve my dinner/self-worth dilemmas.
Love and kalamata olives,
P.S. to our readers: I did not receive any sort of prompting or compensation from Homemade Pizza Company for this love letter.
P.P.S. to Homemade PIzza Company: But if you wanted to send me a coupon or two, you know they’ll get used.
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