The following story is about a year old, but some of our friends recently enjoyed it and suggested we put it on the blog. Here is the Spencer trash pizza story:
Chris was working on the house one Saturday while my sister, the kids, and I were away at a shower. I can’t recall why we only had one car that day, but for some reason we had to drop him off with no car, or food for that matter. The Tuesday before (4 days prior), we had had a Hot n’ Ready pizza, which we did not finish. It was in the trash, still in the box, but in the trash. You’ve probably guessed where I’m going now, though you may wish you hadn’t.
When we came to pick him up 10 hours later, I asked him rhetorically if he was starving. He said, “no.”
I couldn’t understand how that was possible so I pressed, “How are you not hungry?”
“You don’t want to know, I’m just not.”
With growing suspicion, I kept on, “What did you do?”
Silence… Then nonchalantly, “I ate the pizza from the other day.”
“But it was in the trash!”
“It was still in the box.”
At this point my voice started getting a bit shrill and panicky, and though I was somewhat aware that my kids were listening I still blurted out “You’re going to die!”
My sister gave me a deserved look that said, “You idiot!” as a van full of girls burst into tears. I apologized and tried to calm them down by explaining, “Daddy probably won’t die, but he will be very sick later tonight.” I’m not proud of my dramatic performance that night.
Somehow, Chris never did get sick; but every scrape or bruise he had over the next few days the girls would ask with very worried expressions, “Daddy, is that from the pizza you ate?”
Finally, Maggie couldn’t take the anxiety anymore and cried out, “Why does this world even have trash pizza?”
Mags, the better question is, “Why do we eat it?”