Sometime a man’s stomach defines him. Take the other night, for example, when I ordered a pizza in a Cincinnati hotel after a weekend of speaking.
My wife and I talked on the phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I just ordered a Dominos pizza, and I’m eating it here on the bed, watching Battleship.”
“How’s the pizza?”
“Terrible.”“So what are you gonna eat?”
I paused. “The pizza.”
“I thought you said it was terrible.”
“It is. Probably one of the worst I’ve ever tasted.”
“So how much did you eat?”
Another guilty pause. “The whole thing.”