What do you think I should do, get tongue surgery or a taste bud transplant?
I’m tired of having to compromise my topping preferences or lack thereof every time someone announces that they’re ordering a pizza. I shudder at the thought of being asked what additional meats and veggies I’d like to add atop a pie that I find perfectly delicious without. Sometimes I lie. Sometimes I make up a line about praying we get a generous chef who throws extra sausage and pepperoni on there.
But I’m sick of pretending and feeling ashamed of my love for simple, cheesy pizzas.
As a young boy watching Home Alone, I always felt like Kevin McCallister was my spirit animal because his love for Christmas, fear of basements and most importantly, his appreciation for the exclusive rights to a cheese pizza.[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RISQc8mptK4&w=584&h=390]I leave no slice behind, devouring the entire confection in a timely manner, crust and all because I’d never want to waste food when there are others who are malnourished. I don’t taint the already mouthwatering pizza by dipping it in ranch, or covering it in crushed red peppers to spice things up. Sure, sometimes I may sprinkle a bit of grated Parmesan, but additional cheese is my prerogative.
I’d like to start being honest about all of the frozen pizzas I buy for home cuisine. The not delivery DiGiorno that I frequently cook and stuff my face with, I want to stop hiding it in the back of the freezer and running the empty boxes to the trash when I have company over. I was under the impression that living alone should feel comfortable, not as if you’re walking on eggshells. When people come over and say, “It smells like food,” I’d like to say, “You’re gah-damn right it does, because I just had a cheese pizza.”
I’m tired of giving a pseudo name when I call in my order. I’m over picking toppings off of my slices and still tasting strong hints of onion and green pepper residue. I’m tired of removing a piece of sausage or pepperoni and having a glob of sacred, heavenly cheese come off along with it.
So quit making me feel like less of a man or a human for my eating habits. Stop making me feel like I can’t be a pizza expert and saying I’m boring and live in a box. Newsflash, pizza comes in a box so I probably know more about it than you. I didn’t ask to be born hating toppings and frankly I’m over being judged for this.
I don’t need sympathy, it’d just be nice if people would ease up off my back. There is always a layer of warm, melted, gooey happiness on my pizza and I’m not sorry that it’s not festive enough for your liking. I understand what pepperonis taste like. I am not impressed. I grasp that peppers, sausage, ham, or some kind of extra goodies are the general public’s preferences and I highly encourage you to ask for that on your pizzas if that’s your M.O. That’s cool. However, your opinions don’t change mine. I am the one who must chew, swallow and taste the things that enter my pie hole. I’ll respect the pizza that goes in your mouth if you respect what goes into mine. Besides, if you can afford all those extra toppings and whatnot, you’re probably some spoiled, privileged person who gets whatever pizzas they want in life, and I, for one, resent that.
TL;DR: I, Christopher Hudspeth, LOVE cheese pizza, haters gonna hate, privileged people gonna get torn to shreds by the general public if they complain about how hard having a luxurious life is. Lighten up though.
image – Shutterstock