Last weekend, I gave Mom some left over pizza from a Saturday night meal at a favorite old hangout.
Little did she know that I ate three pieces, three cold pieces, for breakfast.
I thought she would ring my neck.
Seems I picked up this trait from her.
I talked to her a day later and she said she didn't heat up the pizza.
"I ate it cold and it tasted great," she said.
I'm glad didn't crack open a Hamm's beer. The beer of choice for Dad before being sidelined with illness.
That's a story for another post.
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