Friday night the three of us went to the South Beach at Lake Harriet as we often do. We brought our supper with us, a deep dish frozen pizza that once baked, Rory had put in our lasagna pyrex casserole pan with the plastic lid. The pizza was big, the slices were heaping and it tasted awesome while sitting on the bench that is right on the walking path, overlooking the beach.
Ivar sat in his stroller eating his pizza and I held the casserole on my lap while Rory ran back to the car to grab our waters. I sat there, huge and pregnant with an entire pizza on my lap.
Our longtime family friend Linda walked by with her friend Pam. We talked for a while, sharing our excitement for the move ahead, heard about the conference she was attending this weekend, talked about the baby soon to arrive.
When Rory returned I realized I had been sitting by myself with this huge pizza on my lap. I asked Rory, “Does this look bad?”
Rory laughed and said, “Yeah, sort of. Like the guy at Cici’s Pizza Buffet who just goes through the line filling a tray and never grabs a plate.”
I then saw myself from the outside, nine months pregnant, huge, wolfing pizza on a park bench by myself while my son watched me and Linda approached. And then I laughed so hard it hurt my pizza-and-baby-stuffed belly.
1 comment:
That's hysterical!
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