The Shame

>We have weak moments. With therapy, those weak moments become fewer and less painful. But I don’t think I shall ever overcome the guilty, disgusting bloated feeling that smacks me in the face like I’m a red-headed step child when I eat….A Domino’s Pizza.

I know, I know! It’s not like I think of myself as a particularly classy gal, but whatever iota of pride I have left in me vacates once that final bite is on its way to my stomach. Greasy, over-cheesed, and so damn good. Ugh. What a traitor to my Italian heritage.

I suppose these moments are necessary to remind us of how tasty homemade pizza really is. And if you think “Oh golly, I’m an amateur! How in the name of Abraham’s sandals will I ever be able to make my own pizza dough?” then you need to take a self-confidence booster pill and jump on the fun train.

Right now, however, the fun train is on the way to Shuteyeville. So keep your nose in the air and your whisks at the ready for my Italian pizza dough recipe, coming to a mixing bowl near you.

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