We may not know what country we are living in, but it's Friday, and at our house--or hotel--that means pizza. Last week we walked across the street to Papa John's, got the largest pizza they had and kids ate it in about five minutes. Dave and Elisabeth will not be surprised by this, when we come over on Friday, they don't double the pizza order, they square it. Last week, after vanity-sized pizza tragedy, Peter and I had to have cereal with red wine--c'mon it was Friday!--for dinner. So this week we walked across a different street to Trader Joe's and got all the ingredients for a white flour/pepperoni and a whole wheat/mushroom-onion-bell pepper. In Niger we missed Trader Joe's so much. Since it's our only grocery store here within walking distance (I don't count Dean and Deluca), I hope we are good and sick of it by the time we leave. I wonder what pizza Friday will mean in Moscow.
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sitting on pennsylvania ave
Barnes and Noble is killing me, so today we got library cards.