Sunday, July 8, 2012

Pizza Hut

As a third grader, my mother would reward my good report cards with a personal pan pizza from Pizza Hut. It was so fulfilling. This was better than Mc Donalds. Pizza Hut was my motivation for good grades. I was in puppy love with the idea of having my own pizza to myself to share with no one but myself. Like a puppy, I was trained by the pizza. Salivating when I smell it through the box. Sometimes my stomach would growl if we were passing the Pizza Hut and the pizza vapors hit me in my nostrils with the car window down. I didn't even know what huts were at the time. I assumed all people foreign cooked pizzas inside their small huts. I thought every village was a pizza town. I was jealous of those people because they didn't need good grades to have pizza; it was baking every night for them. Each six weeks were a challenge for me. But once I got all A's and B's, I got my reward. If I was in danger of getting a C, then I would bribe my teacher with a slice. If I risk getting a D, then I would offer two slices. Regardless, it was worth my reward.

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