Seriously. Black. Friggin’. Pants.
No jeans. No noisy corduroys. No fun colorful or patterned stretchy leggings. Black pants. All because I’m in a completely consuming relationship.
He’s everything I want and he’s always there when I need him. He’s socially acceptable and gets along with almost everyone. Frankly, most people fall in love with him upon first meeting him. He’s irresistible!
I can take the parents and friends to meet him. He makes me smile and lust after him no matter if he’s heated or ice cold—I still want him just as bad. In fact, he slides inside me with such familiarity that I ache when he crosses my lips. It’s that knowing ache. I know I’ll be satisfied. He knows me. He wants to please me. He can be bad and he’s still good.
He’s pizza and I have been in an all consuming relationship with him since the age of eight.
Perhaps you’ve been in love too?
It’s that long-lasting love. That love that’s changed you (but it’s not always for the best). You love someone but they’re killing your spirit?
I’m about to be 42 years old which means (if you’re doing the math), that I am close to spending 22 years of my life in black pants because of my relationship with pizza. If I add things up, I was with my first husband for 10 years, and my second for 15 years. He’s outlived both of those lovers, and he is still going strong. But like all long relationships, something inside me is dying, the part of me I gave up to be with him. He’s not only killing my spirit, he’s killing my wardrobe too.
If I knew the actual date I lost my pizza virginity, I could be proudly celebrating my 33rd anniversary. I could waltz into any jewelry store and purchase an amethyst ring or necklace—the appropriate gift for the 33rd anniversary—and it would pair rather nicely with black friggin’ pants. Pizza and I have a love affair that outlasts so many others who are struggling to find the right one. He knows me so well and I know all the sides of his personality: Neapolitan, Deep Dish, Thin and Crispy. I love each of them.
I love him…but I’m tired of wearing black pants.
Pizza has officially become the gateway drug to a life in black pants. For me, at least. It’s not pizza’s fault. It’s not him, it’s me. Had a bad day? Get pizza. Heart broken? Pizza sounds good. When things are good, he and I don’t have any problem co-existing. We hang out, we have a few friends over, shake a little parmesan and oregano and we move on to the next adventure.
With each time I recklessly use him to comfort me or to soothe my soul because of the pain I would rather slather over with a good crushed tomato sauce; I’m losing the battle. I’m wearing nothing but black pants. If you’ve ever been in one of these relationships, you can’t see the slide down the slippery slope. Your friends tell you they’re worried. They see you trading button flies for elastic waistbands. You convince yourself that the increasing size on the tag of your black pants doesn’t matter because you still look really good.
I do look really good.
No matter what my size is, I’m beautiful.
Plus, black pants look good on everybody.
The thing is, my knees hurt. I’m faced with looking at medication for conditions I’ve never had issues with before now and it’s all because I love him. I lust for him. He loves me right back. But I want to love me.
I want to love me. I want to go back to the way it was. I want my relationship with pizza to change because I want to be able to have fun with him again. I want pizza to fit in and balance in a life where I’m not exhausted and running to greet the delivery boy doesn’t leave me winded. I want a life where I’m not taking arthritis medication just to go out on the dance floor. I want to call up pizza and have fun with him. I want to enjoy him but not lose myself in the process. I want to own black pants but I want more. I’m finally mindful of how our relationship has affected me. Finally.
So pizza, let’s just call this what it is. I love you, but I need to keep you in the appropriate place in my life. Let’s go out a few Friday nights from today? This time though, let’s go out on the town because we’ve not had a date night in forever and because maybe we haven’t seen each other in a bit. Remember how fun that was once? Yeah, I know you do.
Oh, will you recognize me? Of course. Just one small detail.
I’ll be wearing a dress.
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