Walking down the hill tired but cheerful, I announce my idea.
“Listen, it’s just us tonight. I thought I could stop by Billa [nearest grocery store] and…”
“Just wait a minute and listen before you shoot down my idea! How about if I run in, pick up a couple of frozen pizzas and we’re good?”
“Couldn’t we order in?”
“Here’s the difference: 3.99 per pizza or 10 Euros per pizza.”
Home. Pizzas in the oven. No fuss, no extra labor. I have a beer I might open a little later.
There is a tangible relief for allowing ourselves the nearly naughty convenience of a likely machine-prepared slate of dough with a scant cheese and tomato sauce topping. But the pizzas are ready now and smell the way you’d want a pizza to smell. I have no guilt. We will feast on the nutritionally questionable and save our regrets for a later date.
Now we are sated and our dinner conversation proved wide ranging. We talked about what it might be like to live without the imperative of clock time, wondered what it would mean to not enjoy the sense of taste. We talked about the events of the school day – shout-outs and dodge ball, reading club and a birthday invitation. It was a dinner I would wish for any family. There we have it – frozen pizza as the great bonding occasion: mother-son time of the highest quality.
Today is a good day to be in the world.