We had Papa John’s pizza brought in at work today . . .
My wife and son — he was probably 5 at the time — went out and bought a Papa John’s pizza. I didn’t know they were going to do that . . . when they got home, I heard them in the garage, my wife telling the boy not to do whatever it was he was doing, followed by some sort of a big commotion.
It turns out what happened is that he wanted to surprise me with the pizza by carrying it in behind his back, but his arms at that time were too small to do that without dropping it, which is what he did.
As a result, the pizza tasted like the floor of our garage.
I still get that garage taste in my mouth every time I see a Papa John’s pizza . . .