{I Self-Medicate With Cardboard Pizza}

When one's husband accuses one of being addicted to one's laptop, there is nothing to do but eat really cheap pizza.

I don't know what it is about being in a bad mood that makes me crave crappy food, but it's as real a symptom of my life as periods are a symptom of not being pregnant (and thank heavens). At any rate, I have a bag of 5 flavourless pepperoni pizzas that I bought at Wal-Mart Superstore™ for, like, $3.00, on hand for just such an occasion.

Ooh, individually wrapped!! Unnecessary packaging. And I call myself "green."

So when I woke up from my Sunday nap at 9 p.m. (bad idea, taking a nap so late), and went straight to check my email, only to be told that I am addicted to the computer [an accusation which hurt, if you want to know the truth], it was in the kitchen that I sought my solace. I even put some extra shredded mozza on top of the "pizza" before baking, as if I honestly expected that to make it any better; it didn't.

It barely even resembles food.

But that's the joy of it, I think. Imagine: food so deliciously lousy that not even an extra inch of the world's simplest and most delicious cheese can make it more palatable--well, to me that is comfort food at its finest. No pretenses. No putting on airs. No making me feel inadequate with fancy French words like blanché or soufflé or tartelette. And that's what this pizza is all about--making people like me feel better about ourselves by sheer comparison.

Yes, I might be addicted to checking my email to see if anyone commented on my latest post, but at least I don't taste like dirty socks. Perhaps it's true that I care too much about my online life--but at least nobody bought me at Wal-Mart for $3.00 plus GST. And so what if I open my laptop every morning before I even get out of bed? Eating this sorry excuse for food makes me feel so much better about it.

Buy a bag. You won't be sorry. Another bonus? Cardboard pizza therapy is so much cheaper than other kinds of retail therapy (i.e. shoes).