First of all, the title of this post is incredibly clever. Carb-bomb, get it? Like car-bomb? I could have spelled it CarbOmb but I thought that might be confusing. Might that have been confusing?
Anyway, tonight I was finishing the finishing touches on my bookshelf and I decided to scurry out for pizza. “Two slices,” I said to the counterman, pointing to what looked like normal pizza. He nodded and shoved two slices into the oven.
After I paid and they yelled out “two slices!” I went to pick it up and put it on the table. As I was adjusting my straw, a man sitting next to me said: “What is that on your pizza?”
I looked down:
There was pasta on my pizza!
“Pasta,” I said to the man. “There’s pasta on my pizza.”
“That’s what it looked like,” he responded, contented.
I stared down. “That’s a lot of carbs,” I said outloud. The man ignored me.
The pizza, for the record, was tasty—but one slice would have been sufficient. Halfway through the second slice, I was fuller than I wanted to be. And I had pie waiting.