The Problem With Pizza

Here's what we had for dinner tonight: salad, leftover french fries, and Ledo's pizza (sorry, Pudgie's).  Sounds good, right?  It was.  There was only one problem -- I'm not satisfied.

Whenever I eat pizza,  it's the same old story.  First, I eat til I'm full.  Then, while my belly tells me "no more," I start to wonder what else there is to eat.  You see, one of three things needs to be on my plate at dinner time for me to walk away truly happy:

• Pasta (any kind will do)
• Meat that I can pick up and eat with my hands (it's even better when my dinner companions let me gnaw on their bones, too)
• Gristle (come on, give it a try before you call me gross).

Unfortunately, pizza doesn't offer any of those three things.  Sure, it tastes good.  It comes with toppings.  You can eat it with your hands.  But, whenever I eat pizza, it just seems like something's missing.

I know that, within an hour, I'm going to be rummaging through the pantry, still unsatisfied.  I'll grab a bag of chips -- one of the big, family-sized bags.  And, I'll proceed to eat every last chip out of the bag.  It's going to happen.  I won't be able to stop.  Thank god for high metabolism.