Of Robin Hood and Burnt Pizza

NOTE: The following happened two days ago.

           It is my parent’s anniversary today. I went off to school with the knowledge that when I would turn into our driveway and hop off my bike looking like a sweaty Tomato… with brown hair they would be on a date. However, when I did hop off my bike after a very normal day of school our unwashed white car was still in the driveway. They were deciding on which restaurant to go to. They decided on Le Bistro (this was decided immediately after my mom heard rustic used as an adjective). With a frozen pepperoni sausage pizza in the freezer and Netflix a comfortable click away they left. I ended up watching Mao’s Last Dancer. And yes, I did trot around the house doing “ballet” (which means swirling in crooked circles and attempting to point my toes while opening the fridge for an apple). Although I loved oooohhhhing at the ballet shown I was rather disappointed in the movie itself. I had high expectations that were not exactly gratified. Halfway between the movie my sister called and as I talked and laughed with her as I put the Pizza in the oven. Some things the world should know about Dean and I are:

We are both obsessed with Doctor Who.

We are both made fun of our obsession with Doctor Who by my dad.

We are five years a part.

We both have inside jokes with our friends having to do with bubbles.

She once convinced me that when I was little I had a shark tooth.

We both love singing and constantly did it while washing the dishes.

We are best friends.

We talked for about thirty minutes before she had to do yoga and I had to go make a discovery: I had left the pizza in for thirty minutes. Throughout our conversation the thought had occurred to me that it was a long twelve minutes (I had set the timer for this time) but I assured myself that the timer was set and the buzzer would ring any second. Well I had set the timer, but for twelve hours. My pizza was a little burnt. Correction, my pizza was a lot burnt. Something everyone should know about me:

I’m really good at burning things.

Still, the pizza was OK. The Pepperoni was not black and the cheese not charred. So I ate it while I skimmed through the last bit of Mao’s Last Dancer and ate some more while I started BBC’s version of Robin Hood. I actually kind of like it. I actually very much like Much. He and his multi-colored sweater crack me up every five minutes. Anyway, that’s it for now.