The other night, we were invited to a pizza party at a local place that serves outstanding pizza. I would say “the best” pizza, but that is a point of contention around these parts. There are a couple of really good local joints and most people are firmly in one camp and will argue until they are blue in the face about which one is best. There was even a series on the local news where people voted and argued, trying to determine which of these pizzerias was truly “the best” in the area.
So, good pizza. We were invited to get some.
My husband picked the kids up from their day-camp and told them the good news. “Who wants to go get pizza at A Very Fine Local Establishment*?”
The children didn’t react.
“Can we go home instead?” one of them asked. (I’m still in such shock, I don’t even remember which kid said this.)
The others agreed with the first child’s question and begged to go home.
Go home? Instead of having unlimited, delicious pizza with friends? What?! There wasn’t even anything fun waiting at home. No special snack or toy or anything. Just….a bath and bedtime. And Lord knows they would never admit to being tired or ASK to rest up!
There is only on explanation for this.
My children are zombies. Send help.
*Obviously, that is not what the place was called. But, if I were to open a pub and eatery, you’d better believe that is what I would name it.