Open letter to Regina pizza guy
Hey,
Remember me? I bought a x-large pizza from you last night. I remember you. Of course I do. The minute you looked into my eyes and told me pepperoni wasn’t a good idea, that’s when I knew we had something special . We shared a moment you know? We had what everybody keeps looking for. When you proposed pesto and gorgonzola I knew all I had to do was take your hand and I’d be safe.
So anyway, there I was, face-to-face with the man who would break me from my pizza curse. Let your pizza sing, you eyes seemed to say. We didn’t need words, we had a simple recipe: dough, sauce and romance.
My heart sank when you told me that I would have to wait 25 minutes to taste the fruit of our burgeoning love. Left to my own devices I walked down the street. A fury of passion and delight. “Yes!” I called out to those who passed by me, but most of all to my heart.
25 minutes I was back. Cash in hand.
“Look inside” you said coyly. “Take a deep breath and remember me”
You rubbed my shoulder and made me blush. Then without skipping a beat you walked back to the kitchen, hipchecked the faux-italian looking saloon door, turned around and winked at me.
Later that night I shared our story with some friends I ran into in the street. They’d been living in the area for years. “Regina pizza?” they asked puzzled. “Yes, Italian place where the vegetables are marinated, and the pizza oven is always on…”
“But Alex,” Tim stammered “that place burned to the ground years ago. The owner died trying to save his lucky apron. The really sad part, I hear he never found true love.”
Or did he….