We Can’t Date If You Don’t Like Pizza

We Can't Date If You Don't Like Pizza

I was sitting at my desk blasting some music to help me power through some work assignments that came in at the most inconvenient time, on a Friday of all days. My boss, the mouth-breather, came into my office at about 2 p.m. and handed me a bunch of assignments to complete by the end of the day for a client. That’s when a Bumble message came in that was a GIF of a puppy rolling around on the ground, from Rachel. I replied, “Hey, how you doing?” In case you didn’t know, I am the most awkward man alive, so I didn’t really know how to reply.

After some messaging back and forth with Rachel, I got right to business and said, “Do you want to get some food tonight?”

Rachel replied, “Sure, where were you thinking?”

I shot back, “I’m feeling pizza, how about you?”

She said, “Sounds great!”

Then from there, we decided on a place to meet and set a time of 8 p.m. I finished up my business, submitted my work to the client, rubbed my dick on my boss’s coffee mug, sprinted to my car, drove home, got a shower, and changed. From there I went downtown to meet Rachel.

I was sitting in the pizza parlor waiting anxiously. I kept flipping through her Bumble pictures so that I would be able to recognize her immediately when she walked in. One thing I did notice — which should have set off red flags to begin with — was that she had different color hair in each picture. Being the stupid fuck that I am, I wasn’t able to read the writing on the wall. I now know, as a serial dater, that girls usually make changes to themselves like that after they have been through some shit. Whether it’s a tattoo, piercing, losing weight, gaining weight — it all has a story. Little did I know, Rachel was a full-blown psychopath.

Rachel walked into the parlor wearing heels, shorts where her ass-cheeks were hanging out, and a crop top. I stood up to meet her, extending my hand for a shake, and she threw a hug on me. When we released the hug she gave me a peck on the lips. Right there, I knew I had fucked up. Not only did she just hug and kiss a total stranger but I could taste the Jameson on her breath.

I joked, “Had a couple drinks already?”

Rachel replied, “Had to loosen myself up for you.”

There was something about this bad girl attitude that was extremely attractive. Her comment was soothing and eased my first date anxiety instantly. We had a little small talk about work, school, and plans for the weekend when the waiter came over. I looked at Rachel asking, “Should we split a pizza? What do you like?”

Rachel replied, “I don’t like pizza. I’ll just have a salad.”

My jaw hit the floor. What kind of animal doesn’t like pizza? A drunk animal for that matter. I was immediately disgusted but thought to myself, once this pizza comes she’ll definitely grab a slice. Who knows, maybe we could even share the leftovers in the morning.

Rachel continued to talk without letting me get a word in. I knew this broad’s life story, the good and the bad. I was still in awe that she was telling this to a complete stranger. Believe me when I say this girl had been through a lot.

Once our food came, I was filled with excitement. I thought to myself, “Thank god the foods here, maybe she will stop talking and eat some of this goddamn pizza.” Not to my surprise though, Rachel refused my suggestion for her to eat a slice.

She said, “Pizza is for fat people. You will never catch me putting empty carbs in this body.”

I was boiling. I almost lost my shit. I come from a huge Italian family and my ancestors were definitely rolling in their graves knowing that I was on a date with a girl who wouldn’t take a single bite of pizza.

I couldn’t keep quiet. I had to say something. “Do you really not like pizza or are you just saying that?”

Rachel darted back, “It’s disgusting, I think you should sit over there if you are going to eat it.”

I was crushed and my Friday night was ruined. What I thought was going to be filled with a terrible attempt at lovemaking was shot right down. All I could think about was this maniac sitting in front of me who was shaming all pizza-eaters after I specifically asked if it was cool to go to a pizza place. It was a kick in the dick.

The check came, and Rachel reached for the bill. I allowed it. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I let her pay. She reached for it in an attempt to have me snatch the check away from her like a gentleman but the gloves were off. Not today, Rachel, you are paying for my pizza that you hate and the leftovers that I am taking home.

We stood up and walked out of the pizza parlor. Rachel pulled me into her and said, “You owe me for the pizza.”

“Next time I’ll get the check,” I replied.

She said, “Want to come to my place for a movie?”

I agreed. Rachel gave me her address, a sloppy kiss and she was on her way to her car.

I got into my car and digested what had just taken place. I can’t go to her apartment. Who knows what this girl will do to me, she’s obviously insane if she doesn’t like pizza. That’s when I started my car and drove back to the safety of my apartment.

I sat down on my couch and started an episode of The Office when a Bumble message from Rachel came in reading, “Hey asshole, where are you?”

I replied, “Eating pizza.”

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Rich Homie

The College version of myself would kick the shit out of the Corporate version.

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