Finish the story begins with: “Pizza anyone?”
Mum stood at the kitchen door watching us move as a tsunami towards the pizza.
Mum’s pizzas left us as drooling idiots. She knew just the right amount of ingredients to put on them. She would wait until the house was full of pizza aroma before opening the oven and letting her cooking titillate our senses.
We sat around the table while mum sliced it up. There was always plenty, in fact we often received a second piece, which amazed us as mum cut very generous slices.
Mum would stand back and watch us devour her hard work with a contented look on her face.
One night after one of her pizza treats I looked back at the pizza tray realising it was still half full. Mum happy her six kids were fed had a smile on her face and giggled slightly as she cleared the table.