Dyslexic Pizza

Of course, as is my nature, I was far too tired to drag myself out of bed yesterday morning to get breakfast at the SAU cafeteria. I reminded myself the night before that it was pancake Monday and just the thought made me salivate. But at 6:00 AM, when it came right down to it, I would have much rather rolled over and caught a few more winks. Consequently, I drifted off to sleep with visions of pancakes smothered with sugarplums dancing in my head. At this point, the dream becomes a nightmare. Have you ever seen a pancake dance to Tchaikovsky? If not, count yourself blessed.

I finally mustered up some strength and dragged myself out of bed for some early morning devotions. By this point in time my stomach was screaming obscenities at me for skipping breakfast. I fervently tried to block out the grumbles with my morning prayers. After what seemed to be an eternity, I realized that I’d better get dressed for clinicals. I had to drive to Dalton, GA and I was not sure how long it would take to go from Happy Valley to the pediatric facility I had been assigned to for the day. Donning my gay apparel, I headed into the rain, attempting to drown out my gurgling stomach as I splish-splashed through the puddles of Thatcher parking lot.

For the remainder of the morning the only sustenance I was able to partake of was a chocolate covered caramel that one of the nurses at Peds Care insisted I eat. We’ll now speed forward to the evening hours. I have skipped the cafeteria for dinner too, and looking at the clock realized just how hungry I really was. 6:45 PM. Oh darn, guess I’ll have to order a pizza now. In one swift motion I grabbed the phone, and dialed the number to Dominos from memory. “Can I take you’re order?” “But of course! I’d like a medium handtossed pizza half extra-cheese, half green olives and black peppers.” If this were a comic strip the next little box would boast an illustration of a little blond girl with her foot in her mouth, the caption reading, “Insert foot in mouth now!”

The other end of the phone is sheer laughter. I could inform this young whippersnapper that my brain is low on glucose, hence my fumbled vocabulary. But for some reason I didn't think he would appreciate the medical mechanics of the situation, so I bashfully informed him that it had truly been a long day.

Now I had to dig up some courage to face the stinkin' pizza man! Forever he'll recognize me as the dyslexic pizza chic. But I suppose it could always be worse. I could have had pancakes drenched in sugarplums for dinner!