Yes, I'm Embarrassed

I've become well known around these parts and, sadly, it's not because of my books. Our doorbell rang a few nights ago and Robin went to answer it. I don't respond to knocks or bells unless I'm expecting someone or recognize a car, but Robin's curiosity gets the best of him. He opened the door to a very familiar face, the pizza delivery man. Robin told him we hadn't ordered a pizza so the driver checked his address again.

"Oh, I'm sorry to have bothered you. It's for another address on your street, but when I saw the street name I figured it was for you."

Does that tell you how much pizza is consumed at our house?

This isn't the first time I've been embarrassed about being well known by the local pizza establishments. Years ago, when my children were in school, I'd reward myself with a pizza for lunch on Fridays IF I had met my cooking and cleaning goals by noon. In those days, we had to call in the order and pick it up ourselves. It got to where each time they answered the phone and heard my voice, they would say, "Peggy, the usual?"

So, it's not a secret that I'm hooked on pizza and could eat it every day and not get tired of it. I've toned it way down since marrying Robin, but he still says he's never eaten this much pizza before in his life. I do a fair share of cooking, but at least once a week after a full day of work, I place an order to people who have become my intimate friends. They know my eating habits.

And even though it is embarrassing to me, I will answer the door when I know pizza is on the other side of it. But usually by then, Robin has door duty because I'm already in my pajamas.