I have a new nemesis…
The World Cup.
Not only did it close restaurants in the surrounding villages last Friday, ruining my dinner out, but last night, my beloved Pizza Night, also fell to the fever.
The pizza man must be a fan of New Zealand, Slovakia, Portugal, The Ivory Coast, Brazil, or North Korea (the only teams playing yesterday) because last night, when I walked around to Le Petite Notre Dame, where the pizza man parks the pizza van, he wasn’t there.
Well now I’m not a fan of him! (Can you sense my fury? Can you?)
Pizza Night is the Skippie Team’s weekly ritual; two pizzas, a few beers, and the box set of The Wire. Sounds like heaven, right? Sitting back, stuffing your face with pizza, washing it down with beer, while watching drug wars rage across the streets of Baltimore. Heaven!
And if you recall, there is even a Pizza Night song and dance that has been made in honor of my favorite night of the week (one day when I’m brave enough, or drunk enough, I might record it and post it for you my Peeps so you too can spread the Pizza Night joy). It’s my mid-week treat.
And now The World Cup is messing with my mid-week treat.