Sunday

Okay, so here's the thing about Sundays. They're the absolute worst. Seriously. It's like this mental trap where you know you should be doing all these incredibly productive things, or super fun things, or something monumentally important. You grab at everything – maybe I'll finally finish that advanced quantum physics textbook, or build a working miniature space station, or invent a new type of perpetual motion machine before lunch. But then, poof, the day's over, and you've accomplished exactly nothing. It's totally frustrating.

It reminds me of the last day at the beach. You know that dumb, awful day? You try to cram in one last giant sandcastle, one last perfect dive into the waves, one last hunt for the most amazing seashell, and you just end up sandy and tired and sad that it's over, without really enjoying anything. Sundays are exactly like that. A completely dumb day.

My brilliant solution? I just... don't. I literally spend the entire day in my bed. I only venture out for essential refueling missions – like, to grab some actual food from the kitchen. Though, let's be honest, I've usually got a strategic stash of organic fruit leathers and gourmet gummy bears tucked under my pillow, so even that's often optional. It's my highly effective, very logical way of fighting back against the Sunday trap.

Anyway, speaking of food and things people get totally wrong, it makes me think about all these silly stereotypes. Like, when grown-ups say pizza isn't 'healthy food'. I mean, seriously? Have they ever paused to consider the historical context or, like, basic socio-culinary common sense?

I highly recommend anyone who believes that to book a flight to Italy, pronto. And then, I dare them, absolutely dare them, to stroll into a bustling piazza in Rome or Naples and loudly declare their 'pizza is junk food' manifesto. Go ahead. Just tell those people, right there, that their national dish, a culinary tradition spanning centuries, is somehow 'unhealthy'.

But before they pack their bags, I'd strongly suggest drafting a will. Maybe even a few copies. Because Italians, bless their passionate, wonderful hearts, are... well, they're not exactly known for their mild reactions, are they? They're a little bit... what's the word? Fiery. Expressive. Intense. You know, the kind of people who might take a slight against their cherished, millennia-old culinary tradition personally. Very, very personally.

And a laugh and a half, as they say.


Stephie