Why it’s fun to order pizza

So after buying ALL the food this afternoon, I was feeling a bit lazy so ordered pizza.  Cause that’s how I roll, yo. (<–if I ever actually say that in real life, feel free to slap me.)

After a while, Sean walks through and says “Hey, did you order from one of those “30 minutes or less” places?”

No.

But it did seem like it was taking a while.

And then, my phone rings.  And it’s an Arizona number.  Granted, I have friends everywhere, but not really Arizona.  I did the “please don’t be a telemarketer” prayer as I answered it.

I’m so glad I answered it.

“Hi, this is Delivery Guy from Papa John’s, and I’m calling to let you know that I’m on my first ever delivery run, and I just moved here from Arizona.”

HA!

Yep, poor guy got lost.

Having cursed too many times going the wrong way and ending up I’m not even sure God would know where, and wondering why they didn’t lay out the roads more properly and what in the name of Baby James is up with all the cul-de-sacs and subdivisions you can’t get out of (though we had this in Dublin as well, you’d think I’d be over that)…well, let’s just say this Chicago girl sometimes thinks that every city needs a good fire to set their roads straight. (According to my grandmother, after the Great Chicago Fire, someone had the smart idea of laying out all the roads in a grid pattern.  So none of this weird road direction foolishness.)

I told the guy not to worry, we just moved here too, and the roads are strange.

By the way, he gets ten points for his really great phone personality – you would have thought he was calling to tell me I won a prize, not that he was lost and wandering the streets of Suburban Seattle.

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