The Double Entendre
I’ve eaten my fair share of Domino’s pizza.
In College, my friends and I would stay up to the wee hours of the morning sitting in someone’s living room, smoking a bowl and eating 5 dollar pizza pies covered in pepperoni or jalepenos or mushrooms. I always considered myself somewhat of a pizza snob, but what else could one possibly hope to get when it’s 11:30pm and all else is closed except the Dominos? So: the somewhat steamy, usually overcooked, badly hashed out execution of our preferred pizza toppings would show up at our door with a rather pissed looking delivery boy and my friends and I would eat until we were stuffed.
But, that type of culinary sacrifice was something I left behind to be locked in the sepia tones of college memories. However: life has an Ironic way of repeating itself.
I can’t remember which comedian I heard describe sex like Pizza. The gist of what the joke was was that even if the sex is terrible: Hey, it’s still sex, right? just like Pizza. Pizza is still pizza. To which a friend of mine joking acknowledged: “Yeah, but sometimes you can still get food poisoning from pizza, too.” Touché.
Let’s say that my life the last few weeks has been a college feeding frenzy of “Dominos pizza”…
Granted: I’ve certainly had some of the world’s best pizza. (No double meaning here) In Florence, my sister would march me across the city to go to a tiny restaurant where an award winning chef would send out personal masterpieces of italian style pizzas. In New York City, I’ve sampled some of the freshest steaming pies, covered in the pride of a local displaying their prowess in the greatest city on earth. Hell: Even in Louisville, KY I had some damn fine flaky, crusty, greasy, delicious slices of good, cheap pizza. I thought the days of Dominos at midnight were behind me.
I guess, however, in life: when all else is closed, you’re in a room full of broke, hungry college students… And one looks around at the situation before them: Dominos can be a pretty tempting option. Even for aficionados of Pizza.
I gorged a couple of times the last few weeks. Now I’m pretty satiated. And, I don’t need to eat more. Time to go back to the Zagat rated “Pizza” choices. Except now I’m not the desperately hungry ruffian I was a few weeks ago. I definitely don’t need to go back to the menu and sample the “Chef Specials” that were being cooked up for me by OKCupid and Match.com. Ew. Food poisoning…
Now, Hypothetically, it’s 8pm on a Friday night and I am ready to go to a 5 star dinner of the finest pie I can find. I’m not desperate for a meal. More in the market for an experience of the senses. What a great place to be. See ya later, Dominos.
January 4, 2012 at 5:23 am by Natalie Allen