Yes, I shall be the first to admit that people with Jersey roots lose credibility when they speak of Dominos as some of us do - with absolute reverence now and forevermore - but these little babies are ridiculous. They're all chocolate and no pretense; no One if by Land Two if by Sea hectic "You have to order before dinner if you want the molten cake" and while yes it's certainly delicious over there, there's a 90% chance the girl next to you gets an engagement ring in hers and that's just annoying. The Dominos lava cakes come in under thirty minutes, and they are a party in your mouth. Much more fun to experience sublime chocolate in elastic pajama pants and remote in right hand. Oh God, am I turning into Al Bundy?
Sorry, that commercial was necessary. If you saw it you will agree. 'Nuff said. But on to serious now as I've always been a sucker for ironic juxtaposition. I started writing this blog mostly to have some kind of a record of this time in my life - the unexpected, the bewildering, the completely new - yet thrilling nevertheless. To have a shower and leave the wet towel on the bed. To leave the kitchen light on and not have epic discussions on mortality and electricity and the role of Con Edison in our lives. (Electricity and hair highlights should be free like air and water). To watch back to back episodes of Felicity reruns for the love of Ben (Scott Speedman bless your existence in every manner possible) and not have to hear "I hate Felicity" comments.
To order Dominos pizza because you love it best, and then to eat the lava cakes first just because and not have to share a bite. Rivers of chocolate insanity, and this is from someone who has always been a vanilla girl. Back to A can be lonely at times, yes, but it's also back to that elemental time when surprises are always around the corner: an unexpected gesture from an unexpected friend, a perfect discovery at the flea market, an afternoon in the park with a book you loved as a teenager. . . and chocolate. Back to A is a little like that first time your parents left you alone at home with no babysitter - you were the god of your destiny (for that evening, at least) and even watching TV felt a bit more bad ass.
Tonight I decided to take a breather and enjoy my white couch. Ruminate. Like the lovers in John Donne's The Sun Rising, "This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere," (Read the poem even if you hate poetry, trust me) Harold and I sat like emperors in the apartment. That's when I announced with much aplomb to nobody in particular, "Let there be lava."
And there was.