Normal folks would just call number on the magnet stuck to their refrigerator and wait for their pepperoni and pineapple to show up on the doorstep. Here at Casa Splatgirl, that's not quite how we roll.

Somehow, in my world, it's become completely logical that the step that follows deciding we must have pizza is busting out the snowblower and blazing a trail across the patio to the WFO:



ahhhh.
My hero.
Whether it's for love of Girl or pizza I don't know, but I guess I'll keep him either way :)