Ever since my post about breakfast last week, I have felt a little guilty.

Toward the end of my reflection, I remarked that as I entered adulthood and became less physically active, my metabolism slowed down, and I learned to moderate my food intake.  This is true, particularly of breakfast.

Not that anyone would care, but I would not mean to imply that I am an abstemious eater, so evolved past my former, unenlightened, gluttonous self.

On the contrary, if there is virtue in moderation, I am not entirely virtuous.

It would seem, in fact, that there are three circumstances in which I can eat almost for an indefinite duration in a single sitting.  One is when Buffalo wings are placed in front of me.  I ate fifty once.

Another is a Brazilian rodizio.  That, however, is a story for another post.

But, truly, the third situation should be my ruin, as there is no food that I eat in such volumes as I do pizza.  I don’t know what it is.  If I order a pizza, and there is no one to help me eat it, I simply finish it myself.

Yes, an entire pie.

I’m not bingeing or eating so fast that I cannot appreciate the experience.  I simply enjoy it so much that I keep going.

In two instances, someone ordered too much pizza for small gatherings.  When, on the first occasion, someone asked at a critical point how many slices I had eaten, I mumbled, “I think this is my eighth.”

“Oh, my God!” this individual cried.  “You did not just eat an entire pie!”

“Well, not yet…this slice will—”

“Oh, my God!  Oh…my…God!  How can you eat an entire pizza?  That’s insane!”

When the person who had paid for the pizza asked everyone to keep eating–she had overordered and felt embarrassed—I had a ninth slice.  The incredulous observer of my earlier eighth slice was beyond speech.

I honestly could have eaten a tenth, but I was feeling a little full.

The second instance was a similar situation.  This time I was the one who had ordered too much pizza—by accident, honest!—and I had to do my part so that nothing went to waste.  Again, I stopped at nine slices, for the sake of moderation.

I recall no negative consequences on either occasion.  I did not feel bloated or regretful.  I don’t recall putting on any weight.  I merely carried on with my life.

There was, however, one time when I ate an entire pizza and made the blunder of having a large cup of coffee after.  I guess it hit the pizza in my stomach and the dough started to absorb the hot liquid and expand.  I remember rolling around on the floor in agony for about fifteen minutes.

So…every once in a while, the old me comes out.

And this—no pun intended—is today’s slice.