Wait a minute.
It was Patricia who said that.
We thought about ordering in a pizza, Patricia and I, but decided not to spend the money. We're not rich like the 4.7 people who read the blog every day. Instead, Patricia went into the kitchen,
She cooked it in the oven we bought last year to replace the piece of crap stove that was there when I moved in back in 2001. So nice to be able to turn on a stove without having to pray to Baal that the house won't burn down while the food is cooking. You know what I mean.
(Don't know about Baal? Here, read about him.)
The pizza was delicious. It tasted all the better because it hadn't cost us anything. We just used ingredients that were in the fridge or on a shelf or on the floor, or which we had wrested from one of the cats and threw it on the crust and baked the hell out of it for 20 minutes. We ate the whole thing in one sitting. Yum. The pizza wasn't made by some guy at some pizza place working for minimum wage. It was made by Patricia and with love.
I am a benevolent Bevboy.
See you tomorrow.