Cheese Pizza is the Way to My Heart

Like any normal 20something, I love pizza. Ordering pizza and binge watching romantic comedies with a big tub of ice cream is one of my favorite ways to spend a weekend. Unfortunately for me, I’m one of those people who prefers cheese pizza to any other kind of pizza, which almost everyone in my life ridicules.

I grew up in a family of six in which half of my family members don’t consider a meal to be real unless the meal includes meat (#TheManlyMen). (Sidenote: one time Rhett actually freaked out on my mom because she told him that “dinner was done,” and it was just a salad.) Don’t get me wrong, I love meat. I’m not even close to a vegetarian – my favorite meal of all time is probably steak. I just would prefer to eat my pizza without any freakin’ meat on it.

“Just pick off the [insert topping – sausage, pepperoni, Canadian bacon, PINEAPPLE],” said every person in my life ever.

Listen, people, cheese pizza is not the same as pepperoni pizza with the pepperoni picked off!!! When you order pepperoni pizza and pick off the pepperonis, you miss out on like 75% of the cheese that would’ve been there! Then you’re left with these stupid circles where pepperonis used to be, but now it’s just a circle of pizza crust and sauce.

If I ordered a cheese pizza, and it was delivered with only a quarter of the cheese on it as normal, I would throw a literal fit, so why should I be expected to eat pepperoni-less pizza when I could’ve just as easily ordered a cheese pizza?!?!

(To be clear, I do like other kinds of pizza too, cheese is just my favorite. Although some of those spinach and pesto or margherita pizza types run a close second and third.)

Whenever I’m with friends (especially if my much older, much more adult brother is with), I always just say that I’ll eat any kind of pizza (which is true), instead of insisting on ordering a cheese pizza. (Sidenote: I normally even eat the crust, just so people won’t make fun of me for hating the crust. The crust is horrible. Let’s just admit it and move on with our crust-less lives.)

If I do take a chance and say that my favorite kind of pizza is cheese, I normally get one of these responses:

“Kaelly, grow up.”

“Are you serious?! Cheese pizza is hardly pizza!”

“What? Do you hate meat?”

“Okay, well we’re not ordering cheese, so just pick off the toppings.”

As you can see, it’s useless for me to even mention it. I have never once in my entire life (a whole 21 years) ever had someone respond with, “Okay, let’s get one cheese pizza then!” Not a parent (my dad get’s the most mad), not a friend, not even a boyfriend. It’s always just communally agreed upon that I can “happily” eat whatever everyone else wants.

ANYWAY, almost a year ago, I met one of my best friend’s boyfriends. I was meeting him for the first time on a Sunday morning after three of us had spent a girls’ night in together before my big move. When he got to the apartment, we all four decided that we were hungry. Two of us girls left to get Jimmy Johns while the third girl (let’s call her Susie) and her boyfriend (let’s call him Jack) ordered pizza and went to pick it up together.

When we got back to the apartment, I noticed that they were eating pepperoni pizza, which I knew, from many, many years of arguing, was Susie’s favorite kind of pizza.

“Oh, Jack, pepperoni is your favorite kind of pizza too?” I asked.

“No, I just eat it because I know it’s Susie’s favorite kind of pizza.”

WHAT? Are you kidding me?! This boy, who’s been dating her for less than six months at this point, likes her so much that he will order and eat pepperoni pizza just because it’s her favorite kind?!

Okay, so maybe this isn’t a big deal to any of you, but I can promise you that a boy would never in their right mind ever order a cheese pizza and eat it just because it’s my favorite. I would still get told to pick off the toppings (must I reiterate that it’s not the same)!

Maybe I have poor taste in pizza or maybe I have poor taste in men (probably both), but wow was that an eye opener. (The day continued with him doing nice things for her every five seconds and me questioning his every move like a psycho, but that’s a blog for another day.)

Someday, my prince will come with an extra large, extra cheese pizza in hand, and that’s how I’ll know he’s “the one.” (Or maybe I’ll just be single and dreaming forever, who knows?)

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