Sometimes, no matter how bad for you it may be, no matter how much it makes you want to counteract it with seven miles of extra running and a handful of diet pills, you have to give in and eat comfort food.

Last night, post root canal, pizza was the most comforting thing I could think of. Fuzzy hadn’t managed to leave the house yesterday, so caught up was he in work, and I was in no condition to cook. At one point, while making the dog’s dinner, I think I spent five whole minutes contemplating the shiny metal of the knife I was using. It was pretty. (Vicodin haze.)

So we ordered pizza. Well, two, because leftovers are crucial, neither of us had eaten all day, and I generally freeze several slices for junk food emergencies. One was a stuffed crust pie. I’m not a fan of those. Too much cheese, and the crusts are never done enough for me.

We also ordered the “Rustico” pizza from Pizza Hut’s new “Naturals” line. Made on a multi-grain crust, with chicken sausage, fire-roasted red peppers, and slices of tomatos under the cheese, this was as close to a homemade pie as I’ve ever had from a commercial pizzeria. I liked it. It tasted like home.

Of course, this morning, I feel like I need to do penance in the form of a juice fast.
But whatever.