I am considering keeping a wad of singles in my nightstand, so I can tip the pizza delivery man.
When this new pizza place opened, we started ordering pizza about twice a week.
When the pizza comes, my husband does the following:
- Goes downstairs and gets money
- Goes outside and pays for pizza
- Brings the pizza, plates, napkins, and drinks upstairs
- Carefully sets it all up in our bed
- Then clears it all away downstairs to the kitchen
After the longest, most stressful day of my life, I'm lying in bed next to him, eating the last slices of a Sweet Chili Prawn Pizza, that obviously was the victim of a terrible chili powder spill. My mouth is burning like a mofo (and we are spicy food lovers, wtf? Maybe a handful of m & m's would wash it down?).
Anyway, I love you pizza delivery man... and I totally appreciate your speed and efficiency in bringing the spicy stuff to bed-- if ya know what I mean.
The rest of my day basically included my three year old having surgery to put tubes (grommets) in his ears and his adenoids removed. It was a horrible day at the hospital complete with blood and vomiting. I have to go to sleep before I relive it all in words right now, which I really cannot do.
11:49 PM Friday night- I'm out.