My husband likes to tell the story of "The Couple That Almost Wasn't."
Early in our dating experience he asked me if I liked pizza. Having no forewarning to the fact that my husband wasn't just an afficianodo, he was a flat-out junkie, I answered honestly. "Not particularly," I said. He actually froze. I mildly recovered and muttered something about not really having had all that much of it. He regarded me and said "I'll bet you're one of those people that eats it with a knife and fork." Well. As a matter of fact...I was. One of the things I didn't like about pizza was that there was no way to eat it tidily in public. *sigh* And thus began year upon year, decade upon decade of every single "special day" celebrated with frigging pizza.
It was QB who saved my life. We were over there one evening, and she ordered pizza. Pepperoni for my husband, and tomato and mushroom, the way she liked it. Hozanna, my tastebuds sang. I discovered that it wasn't "pizza" I didn't like...it was pepperoni on a pizza that I despised. I'm a "veggie" pizza person. So, instead of being the "odd man out" in my pizza hosing family, I'm now just someone who prefers a different topping on hers. (Thanks, QB, always!)
I'd still rather have Chinese food, though.
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