Adulthood has ruined pizza for me.
Once upon a Hoosier kidhood, pizza was the holy grail of suppers. How could it not help but stand out in a sea of oven steak, spam cassarole, meat loaf and chicken n' noodles? Pretty much everything else we ate was a dull mush of Germano-American farmhouse fuel. (I can still make pretty much any type of thing into a gravy.) But the days when pizza was on the menu were like heaven to me. I could rest comfortably throughout the day knowing that I had garlicky sauce, stringy cheese and spicy meat to look forward to. If parents, teachers or friends wanted to motivate me, all they had to do was dangle the promise of pizza in front of me and I'd be theirs for the asking. In fact, I'm pretty sure that pizza is the sole reason I went to several youth group functions at my church.
Then I became an adult who could eat whatever she wanted. I'm not quite certain exactly when it happened, but somewhere between twenty-two and today pizza became the thing I settle for. When I know that I will be hungry for supper but don't want to fix anything, I'll eat pizza. It's become the food equivalent of syndicated sit-com reruns. You know that you used to love it and look forward to it, but now you use it as filler.
Outgrowing the simple pleasures of life is never a good thing. I guess my only consolation is that at least now I have sex to look forward to. If the day arrives when sex is no longer a thing I anticipate, please just box me up and send me back to the factory.