Friday, February 6, 2015

Well, I guess I own pizza underwear now

Look what arrived in the mail today, just in time for Valentine’s Day!


On a completely unrelated note, is there a way to make my credit card company text me a riddle or something that I would have to solve before they authorize any purchases made between 2 AM and 4 AM just to make sure that I’m actually fully awake and capable of making sound sartorial decisions? I’m asking for a friend.

* * *

Actually, what fascinates me most about my new pizza underwear is this warning label.

"Not intended for children 14 years of age or younger. Non nestiné aux enfants de 12 ans ou moins."

I don’t know what’s more confusing: the fact that this underwear has a minimum age requirement for some reason, or that the age requirement inexplicably drops by two years if you happen to speak French.

(They probably meant to write “non destiné,” not “non nestiné.”)

* * *

I am, of course, joking when I say that my new pizza underwear arrived just in time for Valentine’s Day, because I’m afraid I am once again single and bitter and going to shame-eat a lot of hamburgers this Feb. 14.

But I’m thinking, what if I happen to be wearing my pizza ‘pants on a date that goes particularly well? Ideally, I’d be with someone who shares my enthusiasm for pizza-themed undergarments, and the night will go splendidly.

It’s just as plausible, though, that my ridiculous underwear could put the brakes on the evening. I’m not sure what I could say to make things better, but, as is usually the case, I certainly know what I could say to make things worse. Here are five, in descending order:

5. You know what they say—even when it’s bad, it’s good.

4. Look, it may start off as a Totino, but I swear it becomes a DiGiorno once it’s heated up.
3. “Thirty minutes or less”? I’ll come in half that time, guaranteed.

2. I know you drove all the way out here, but I can’t promise a big tip.

1. You might want to dab it with a napkin first.

Before you judge me, I would like to point out my restraint by neither going for any sausage or pepperoni double entendres nor making any references to “Papa John’s” sounding vaguely phallic. And I didn’t even mention the fact that Pizza Hut kind of rhymes with “piece of butt” if you slur it.

On second thought, judge me; I guess I deserve it.

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