The Pizza Has No Clothes!

This is about Naked Pizza, a restaurant that I had the misfortune to patronize this past Saturday, the 12th.

First, my date, a Canadian named Kevin, kept me waiting. This did not bode well for him.

But the waiter was nice. Not hot, btw, but nice and we chatted amicably as he seated us.

We were hungry. REALLY hungry. At least, I was.

So we ordered meatball sliders and stuffed mushrooms for apps and then a bruschetta pizza.

The sliders were woefully short of meat. The meatballs were so TINY. About the size of a fingernail, each one was. TINY.
And the bread was not so hot.

Next, the stuffed mushrooms. Also, very tiny portion. But, they were delicious. In fact, I have no compunction about recommending the mushrooms, save the tiny portion size. If you order four portions that should be enough. But be ready for pay for four portions. And if money is no object, I think that yes, you should go ahead and order four portions of stuffed mushrooms.

The pizza. Cardboard with tiny chopped tomatoes and cheese. And then, shortly after we left, the hell began. I was hungry again. Not two blocks from the restaurant. But how could I tell my date this? I had just said I was full which was why I didn't want to get gelato. When the truth was, I didn't want to have to pay for more stuff on this date. Yes. Believe it or not, this is what happened when the bill came.

"So, do you want to split this?" he said.

"What?!" I screamed inside my head. "You've GOT to be kidding me. Split the bill? Really? Do you make less than 24k a year like me? Is that it?"

But no, what I really did was just pull out my credit card.

I should have known. BECAUSE, earlier we had this phone conversation where he talked about me buying lunch. Or rather he said something to that effect. It was very similar to another experience I had where the boy in question had said I should bring him food. Both men were self employed. Working in the financial district. One a broker, one a publisher of breaking advice.

I'm sorry. I can't AFFORD to go dutch. If you want to go dutch find someone else.

Anyway, it could be that he did this because he wanted to make sure I wasn't a gold digger. But whatever the reason, it really turned me off.

But later, when we went through the Jack in the Box (after I confessed I was starving) he did pay for everything. But by then it was too late. I already hated him. Although the food made me feel a little better, and as I filled up I was starting to kind of like him.

Then he made his move. I was weak and I was tired and he was feeling my boobies. And then, he was-oh, man, he was biting me! And if you know me, you know I have but one motto: "NO BITING!"

And then I had him take me home. I was exhausted. And later, not too much later, I was hungry AGAIN.

He called me yesterday and didn't leave a message.

I didn't call back.

I remain,

Hilda Stinson