A few days ago I suffered a great humiliation in front of my children, which they ruthlessly teased me about. What happened you ask?

Well, I being the amazing provider for my family bought some normally delicious and easy to cook pizzas. I thought I would cook a couple of them for dinner as we had all the kids and a plus one home who are all teenagers.

I imagined this being a simple yet rewarding experience. I unwrapped the pizza, ignored the directions because of course I automatically remember the temperature to cook them at and cooking time (psych!).

I placed the pizza in the oven with no pan or pizza stone because that is what legendary pizza cooks do. The pizza cooked a while, I only got distracted a couple of times, but remembered to check it with no timer, because you know, I’m the man.

My intuition and highly refined Top Chef instincts told me it was time to take the pizza out. Although the directions tell the home cook to cook the pizza on the cooking rack, it does not specify how to remove it. I figured a spatula should do the trick. I picked the pizza up,lifted it out of the oven, and the middle began to sag. The spatula began to go through the entire middle of the piping hot pizza before I got it into the cutting board in a folded mess (this may have been how the calzone was born).

The folded mass of semi-cooked dough still needed to be cooked. I grabbed a cooking pan and put the pizza/calzone on it, cooked it another ten minutes or so and slapped it on the counter.

I artfully cut two pieces of pizza off that looked semi-normal.

“Pizza’s done kids!” I exclaimed!

“What the hell happened to that pizza?” inquired James.

Shirley looked unsurprised at her father’s mess of a pizza and snickered to Leah her girlfriend. Clint, my son walked into the room and just started laughing hysterically.

James got his phone out and snapped a photo, “Do you mind if I tag you on Instagram?”.

Needless to say, I was on the “struggle bus” that day😂

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