I observe people. How they interact with others. Is it a genuine delivery or a set up? Do they make eye contact? Or slide on a perfect mask, hiding their true feelings behind over zealous greetings or indifference? And since I moved to BFE, I wonder………Do they have pizza delivery?
My personality is not unique, although a beginner’s manual on how to utilize my traits would have helped. As most humans do, I learned through trial and error. (Emphasis on error.)
Growing up, I was shy. Polite. A people pleaser. I hated to admit guilt, expected instant gratification, and lacked patience. Was this all due to me being an only child? Or was it my Type-A genetic makeup? A crazy mix of both? All I know, is through all of this, I had pizza delivery.
While in my 20’s I focused on the kids, my job, and my family. I always charged full steam ahead. I did what was expected of me and basked in the praise of doing well. We planned. Had our last two children before I turned thirty. We bought my childhood home and we lived happily. Raising our children there was comfortable.
Sounds picturesque, right?
Unfortunately, our children’s needs outweighed the perks. We were not happy with the school district and new developments in the area. This started the ball rolling and triggered our plan to move.
Hubby was practical and patient. My polar opposite.We discussed where we wanted to live and he created a 5 year plan. I was on board, but patience is not in my gene pool either.
His 5 year plan surprisingly became our 1 year plan.
Caught up in the excitement, I failed to recognize and admit the obvious. My comfort zone was going to disappear. In more ways than one.
A month after our move, a very small detail pushed me to admit I was teetering on the edge.
The evening air buzzed with commuters filling gas. Kids squealing, as they followed their parents from the store. A prime spot, since this was the only gas station within a 10 mile radius. I was not filling gas. I had left the kids at home.
I was waiting for pizza to be delivered. There was a boundary and apparently we lived on the other side of Purgatory because we no longer able to rely on the convenience of food being delivered to our door.
To a city girl, the lack of pizza delivery is a detail that should have been disclosed at closing. Somewhere between the million pages was had to sign.
In all seriousness though, I was worried that something so trivial had me questioning my life.