Pizza and the patience it tries

Either severe allergies or a cold has been wearing on my mom the past few days, but she said pizza sounded good for dinner.

Between mom, dad, and I, she is the most discerning about pizza: hotness of serving, thickness and crispiness of crust. However, last time she suggested pizza and I mentioned that she had previously said she didn't like the closest places, she vehemently denied it. So, lesson learned, didn't say that again.

This time, she suggested a place a town over, and I asked her what she wanted on it.

"I don't care," she said.

I knew this wasn't strictly true because she has many times expressed her disgust towards Hawaiian pizzas even though she's never tried pineapple and ham as toppings. It's not a favorite of mine by any means, so it was no big deal.

"Pepperoni and mushrooms?" she suggested.

That was the staple family pizza when I was growing up even though I've never liked mushrooms. I dug out a take-out menu and she found one in the phone book. Based on pricing, 3 toppings seemed the way to go, so I suggested five or six thinking she'd pick the three most appealing to her. When I said "eggplant" she repeated it with a questioning intonation.

"If it were just me, I'd probably get pepperoni, eggplant, and black olives."

"Pepperoni, eggplant, pepperoni, eggplant, pepperoni, eggplant," she continued to repeat. Her prosody made me wonder if the combination was that unfathomable to her.

"Yeah, the eggplant soaks up some of the grease of the pepperoni. We don't have to get that."

"No, that's fine, what else did you want?"

"Well, sliced tomatoes or black olives would also be good."

"Wait, what? How many things do you want?"

"Any of those would be fine. What sounds good to you?"

"Anything."

The back and forth continued with additional misunderstandings between the "gourmet" and "standard" pizza toppings and no decisive input from Mom.

About fifteen or twenty minutes later, I heard Dad on the stairs and said, "Oh, god help us, we can get another opinion."

"Or, god help us, you and your dad can go eat whatever you want and bring me something back."

"No," I said to her. We're not playing that game.

"We're thinking of ordering pizza from Pan-(something I have no idea how to spell)," Mom said to Dad.

"What?" he said.

"The place in Southsville," I said to clarify.

"Oh."

"Is pizza all right with you?" I asked.

"Yes, that's fine."

"Do you have any druthers for toppings?"

"I don't care. Anything's fine except I don't want onions or garlic."

When my dad says he doesn't care he actually means it, so it was back to mom and I.

"What did you want again?" Mom asked.

I rolled my eyes and read off all the toppings I like from the menu.

"If that pizza has pizza sauce, why would you want tomato slices?" she asked.

"I don't care. I don't care. I don't care," I said with rising volume. "Any of those toppings would be fine is what I'm saying. Just pick three. What do you want?"

"Anything's fine with me," Mom said.

Right.

"Pepperoni, eggplant, and black olives?" she suggested as if it weren't the first thing I'd said.

"Yes, that's fine."

"Sure," Dad offered.

Mom dialed the number and while it was ringing, I turned to Dad and said, "Watch, they'll be on vacation in Italy."

"Greece," Mom corrected.

"Right."

She was still waiting for someone to pick up. After about twenty rings' time, Mom started to laugh. The restaurant was closed because the owners were on vacation in their home country.

I laughed too until Dad suggested trying the pizza at the new Irish pub in town: didn't seem promising to me. Also, another topping go-round and I'd have to smash my head into a wall.

Mom said, "Well, you guys can go do that and just bring me home a salad from Burger King."

After all that?! "I'd just as soon pick up a burger than do that," I said.

"Me too," Dad said, "Let's go."


A year ago on TTaT: I'm not for public spitting, but...