Pizza is Italian!
Sharell and I met in a music store at the mall. He was passing out CD’s with a crappy album cover. I told him I could design him a better one and we started talking. He told me he was signed to a label that didn’t spend much time on new artists album covers.
After some more talking he asked me on a date, and I agreed.
The night of the date, I was dressed casually in some jeans and a sweater. 30 minutes past the time we had agreed for him to pick me up, he calls to tell me his driver is running late.
I hang up and scream, “OH MY GOD HE’S PICKING ME UP IN A LIMO!”
I change faster than any woman usually changes for a date. By the time he arrives, I look like I’m going to the damn prom.
I open the door and in my driveway is… a taxi.
OK, my fault for hugely over reacting.
So I get into the taxi (which he didn’t bother to get out of, by the way) and he says, “So do you like Italian? I’m going to take us to a great Italian place.”
We pull up to Pizza Hut.
After we eat our pizza he says to me, “Um my deal hasn’t actually come through yet and I spent all my money on the taxi. Can you get this?”
I ended up paying for both the pizza, and the taxi back home.
