If it's Friday, this must be pizza

For as long as I can remember Fridays has always meant pizza for dinner. As a kid it was like a mini-celebration and a day off from cooking for mom all in one.

We still continue this tradition. Every Friday I ask Little Man what he wants for dinner. And the answer is always an enthusiastic "Pizza!"

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I think all households have some variation of this kinda like Taco Tuesday. It's something fun and gives everyone the kids me something to look forward to. I'm not quite sure how or when this got started in my family but I do recall one memorable Friday-pizza night when I was little.

We were at my grandparents' house waiting for the pizza delivery guy. It seemed to be taking longer than usual and my grandfather was getting impatient. Grandma called to check on the status and was told our pies were en route. So Grandpa decided to go wait out on the porch and told me to come with him. It was like a covert pizza sting operation. After five minutes we moved our base of operations to the street where I guess Grandpa was going to wait for the guy and grab his food to save time.

Suddenly we saw a pizza delivery guy across the street. Grandpa started yelling at him that he was at the wrong place, while also whispering to me that the guy was either new or an idiot. So, the delivery guy comes running across the street. He hands Grandpa our pies, we pay him and head inside to eat.

In between bites, Grandpa told everyone how the pizza guy was obviously lost but thankfully we saw him and managed to get our food before it got cold. It was everything a good pizza should be. Hot and cheesy and delicious. Sure our plain pie had mushrooms on it, but occasionally we ordered one with mushrooms so we forgave this mistake. After all, the pepperoni one was correct. Maybe the place was having an unusually busy night and got our order mixed up.

Halfway through the meal the doorbell rang. It was a pizza delivery man. With our pizzas. Seems the first delivery guy was at the right address and we were eating someone else's pizzas.

I told Bill this story and he rolled his eyes and said, "Now I know where you get it from!"

"My love of pizza?" I asked.

"No, your hunger induced impatience."

May I remind you who drove you to Papa John's to pick up his pizza rather than wait for delivery, Bill?