Dear Pizza,
Let’s face it. You’re not fooling anyone. You call yourself pizza and we all pretend to go along the charade. But we know you’re not pizza. You know you’re not pizza. The lunch ladies? Not sure. They’re a hard bunch to read. There’s a small part of me that gets fooled every time . . . like, this is the day. The day that they get you right. They don’t. They never do. It’s not your fault. They made you this way. But you want to know a secret? Something I would never tell anyone? I love you the way you are. I don’t act like it around my friends, but you should know.
Love,
Tess
Labels: Notes from the Underclass, pizza, Tess
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