Dear Small Piece of 365 Everyday Value Pizza That I Ate Last Night,
We both knew it was wrong — I, a Type 1 diabetic looking for a mini-dinner after an evening cocktail party spent eating cheese, you, a four-cheese, twelve-inch pizza I’d picked up in the frozen food aisle. My body can’t process carbohydrates; you contain nearly nothing else.
It was a match made in hell and — here’s the craziest part — I didn’t even want you. No, Mr. Everyday Value Four Cheese Pizza, we’ve danced this dance before, on an evening of weakness where I, tired of omelettes, submitted to your Parmesan temptations. We both know what happened next — an immediate low, followed by a night of frustrating highs. And the craziest part? You didn’t even taste that good.
So why did I do it? I blame my husband: he, with the working pancreas, walked into the kitchen after the aforementioned party and slipped you into the toaster oven. I tried to content myself with a snack of four strawberries, but the scent of your melting fat proved impossible to resist. “I’ll only have a quarter,” I demurred. “Maybe a third.”
A quarter it was — and again, you were not delicious, nothing compared to the Trader Joe’s pizzas that have done me in before. Your crust was too bready; your sauce too sweet. And what of the four cheeses? I could barely discern them, baked, as they were, into a solid salty crust on the top of your mushy, doughy form.
I went to bed feeling guilty and anxious; a few hours later I awoke to my Dexcom, beeping that I was low. Several tooth-rotting orange tablets and I was asleep once more, only to be roused two hours later by it beeping again, this time saying I was high. How high, you ask? What had you, despite my four-unit bolus, despite a day’s worth of yard work, done to me?
263. For five hours.
You fucking bastard.
Sincerely,
Catherine
Oh Catherine,
I could have written the same ode to the sliver of graduation cake that I ate. I took two bites of achingly sweet (almost totally frosting) cake and said to myself, uh oh….Extra insulin still had not brought it down by bedtime.
Thanks for the laugh.
Alison
If there is something that will break down my low carb will of steel, it’s good pizza. Definitely not frozen pizza. Lately Mike and I have been making low carb pizza crust with almond flour. I wouldn’t call the crust delicious, but it’s good. And Mike makes excellent sauces that along with really good mozzarella makes up for what the crust lacks.
I know that doesn’t solve the quick snack problem. Spoonfuls of almond butter? Pistachios?
Also, I feel it’s time to come clean with everyone. For the first year of our relationship Mike and I pretty much lived off of frozen Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle frozen pizza. Sometimes we ate Simpsons pizza instead.
Catherine, thanks so much for your honest post. I, too, could’ve written something like this, but not with as much humor and grace. I openly curse all pizza, to the extent of not even trying to eat it anymore. It’s too emotionally painful. Love your sign off. Thanks again.
Thank you – laughed so hard it actually hurts!