Satire | The big fat thin crust pizza con

While I had a simple pizza place in mind, Wife zeroed in on a place famous for its wood-fired pizzas and gold-plated ovens imported from Milan. When the pizza arrived, I was stunned. It looked nothing like Al Pacinoe.

It was a hot Sunday afternoon. I was minding my own business as usual, re-reading the  Bhagavad Gita and sipping a cold mug of a cow-sourced  sanskari drink when I heard an urgent summons from Wife who was upstairs with Kattabomman.

I rushed to the bedroom. Katta’s face was wet. He was rubbing his eyes, which had turned red, but he wasn’t crying.

“What happened?”

Wife drew me aside and whispered, “I have a strange request. Can you make him cry?”

“Excuse me?”

“Some  eau de toilette went into his eyes,” she explained. “He is not letting me wash his eyes.”

“You sprayed toilet water into his eyes?”