sunday chill part VII

By the time that it became obvious that Lady was not answering my calls (have I called too late?) and that she was not going to meet me today, prior to her holiday, I was damn hungry. Nothing around the house seemed enticing enough; besides, I was set to go out.

I YM-ed a friend about a long-promised drink and got next week-end. I then called my sister to see whether she'd like to try a new restaurant with me. It came out that she was almost finished with her dinner. We laughed and made promises for tomorrow; she recommended me to order a pizza. The first pizza I've ordered at home; yes, in my whole life.

I called the number my sister gave me and I learned quickly that it wasn't good enough for mobile carriers. I then went to the trenta pizza page, registered my profile, and placed my order.

I read one article online and awaited their confirmation call. I went to the toilet and took the phone with me. I got dressed to go out to the ATM and get some cash, and the doorbell rang. This doorbell rarely rings; I don't recognise its sound and I appreciate that it's loud. It was the pizza guy, well under half an hour, with my steamy pescara. I felt happy to be dressed and very unhappy to not have money. He was kind to take all my piggy bank change—he couldn't possibly wait for me to go to the ATM—and patiently counted the coins twice side by side with me.

I had precisely the price of the pizza, not one coin extra. It is so unlikely me not to tip, especially faced with an almost instant delivery, that I still feel terribly embarrassed (embarrassment is an unpleasant emotional state experienced upon having a socially unacceptable act witnessed by or revealed to others—says wiki). I will have to order my second pizza at home soon, and maybe third and so on, until the day that I meet the delivery guy again and make it up to him. Plus, the pizza is good; yet that I already knew.

What a Sunday: I stayed in, ordered in, dined in (alone!), and ended up ashamed and in debt—both also very in.