For those of you who have not heard this before, my favorite foods are ice cream and cheese, closely followed by pizza. It helps that pizza involves lots of cheese. I like to think this is a combination of my dairy-farming and Italian heritage, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I just like awesome-tasting fat.
Now, hands down, Shakespeare’s Pizza in Columbia, Mo., is the best pizza I’ve ever had. I love the wheat crust, and they have the best Italian sausage. I’m not sure what makes it so good, but they probably use real Italians. When I go to Shakespeare’s, it’s no-holds-barred. I will eat and eat and eat. I allow myself that indulgence. My problem is that I do not go to Shakespeare’s very often, and I’m now letting myself go crazy in other pizza arenas. Pretty much any crust, tomato sauce and cheese will do it for me. (Even Totino’s. Yikes!)
I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to me. I’m having flashbacks of my early teen years. Pizza face and such. (Parents can be so cruel.) So here’s what I’m thinking: I’m either going to need to switch to a fat-free pizza, which would be totally yucky and solve my problem right there, or I’m going to need to save up for some liposuction. At least with that, I would die happy, and isn’t that what life is all about? You can never be too safe.
The Fretful Mother's Blog 
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