Slice of pizza

It was a bleak midwinters day. Cold and icy, gray and dull. She stretched out on the lounge chair by the wall of windows in the drawing room of her apartment. Realizing she had been sitting in the same place bundled up in the cozy plush throw for about 3 hours, she considered getting up and walking around, perhaps empty her bladder and then make a pot of coffee. But the idea of leaving the lounger and letting her warmed up limbs into the cold wasn’t any incentive.

Unwillingly, she unwrapped the throw off herself and stepped towards the kitchen. She filled up the coffee maker with water, added some freshly ground Costa Rican coffee beans to the filter, shut the lid and turned on the machine. By the time she was out of loo, the coffee would be ready. And so it was. Absentmindedly, she opened the door of the refrigerator, peeped inside without knowing what she was seeking and shut it close. As she was about to turn away and grab her coffee mug, she noticed a slice of leftover pizza in the mental image that her brain had just snapped of the refrigerator contents less than a second ago. A moments hesitation later, she was pulling the pizza slice out of the fridge. Oh there were fruits, yogurt tubs and other healthy stuff in there but all she noticed amongst the heap was the pizza slice.

This slice was originally a whole large barbecued chicken pizza that she had devoured for dinner last night leaving nothing but this minuscule piece behind only because she was too full to stuff it down her throat. Being an emotional eater, pizza was the first thing that popped in her mind whenever she felt angry, disappointed, desperate, sad or anxious. This time it was “disappointment” that made her order the pie and guzzle it till she couldn’t take it in anymore. The wave of disappointment overtook her when she saw her former best friend widely appreciated on social media for her work. She didn’t think her work was worth the hype, instead she thought the woman just knew the right people to publicize it. What hit her the most is, she was stuck at the same dead end job she had been doing for the past 6 years while other people were living the life she had dreamt of, life involving international travels, first class flight seats, gourmet dining at Michelin starred restaurants and leisurely walks with a hopelessly romantic partner on Parisian streets at dusk.

She sighed and attacked her slice of pie.

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