Pizza, You are Dead to Me

I am tired of this flippin' diet.

Jonathan and Nicole invited us over for pizza on Saturday night.

I can't eat pizza.

I am also tired of bringing my own food to social gatherings.

So I call my mom and ask her hypothetically what would happen if I ate just one little piece of pizza.

She said that I wouldn't die, and to just try it and see what happened.

So I did.

And let me tell you that I have never tasted anything so delectable in my entire life.

I ate it slowly, experiencing every flavor and texture... the saltiness of the sausage... the sweetness of the crust...the melty goo of cheese... the spices in the sauce...

It was euphoric, people.

Then something happened.

I went berserk and began shoveling pizza in my mouth like a rabid wildebeest.

A stark-raving mad starving rabid wildebeest...

I momentarily forgot that pizza is most probably the worst thing a person with a wheat, milk and egg allergy can eat.

And apparently no one around seemed too concerned as they watched me eat piece after piece after piece.

After piece.

I left very full and quite content.

I went to bed.

I woke up early with a stuffy head.

Then my belly began to gurgle and cramp.

Paralyzing pain, people.

Several trips to the bathroom later, the rumbling subsided.

(TMI??? so sorry...)

And here I am on Wednesday with a weak stomach, a very stuffy head and a runny nose.

BOO.

I think I shall never be able to eat pizza again.

Now join with me in a moment of silence.

(And I'm pretty sure the stomach thing had nothing to do with the food allergy and everything to do with the large amount of fat and grease that I am just not used to.)