Pizza Luce

Heading home with a large Pizza Athena hot on my lap, its aroma swirling in my nostrils. It is pure torture but I'm so happy Mr. M insisted that I don't cook tonight. To say that it required no arm twisting is like saying the Republican presidential nominees have no brains. He's driving and I just pointed out the lovely gradient sky. Will it distract him long enough for me to take a big bite out of a slice?