“You bought this pizza yourself?” your father in law asks you.
You say nothing, but swell with pride. Your cheeks flush a light pink and you give him a knowing smile with one eyebrow cocked up. You better believe it, your expression says.
“I’m impressed,” remarks your wife’s father. “This pizza is perfect. You’ve really nailed it this time, Herb.” He pauses slightly and looks down. His eyes then float slowly back and forth between their lower corners, giving you the impression of a man trying to remember which pocket his keys are in. “Um…Herb?” he asks.
“Yeah, Jim?” you reply.
“This pizza is just so great. I mean, pardon me if I’m being too forward but, can I…can I call you son?”
Your eyes well up – you weren’t expecting this. You’ve been waiting so long for this moment, and now it’s finally here. You step towards Jim and take him into your arms, squeezing him tightly in a loving hug.
“I love you, Jim,” you sob.
Jim’s shoulder is wet with your tears of joy. “You want extra cheese with that?”
“What?” you ask, confused.
Jim speaks, no longer with his voice, but in the voice of an irate nineteen-year-old girl. “I said do you want extra cheese with that?”
You snap out of your daydream and are back in the lobby of the pizzeria you were ordering from. The service girl stands in front of you, her jack slack, staring at you impatiently from under her eyebrows.
“Sir?” she asks.
You wag your head back in forth to help you come fully out of your dream.
“Just…make it perfect,” you tell her. “It has to be perfect.”
“Whatever man,” she sighs.
You whisper to yourself, “Perfect…for Jim.”