I have a secret. A dirty little secret: I am a sample whore. A food sample whore. Farmer’s market on a Sunday… Would you like to try a homemade pickle? You bet I would! Costco (on any day really)… Would you like to try this shitty nut mix with a dollop of hummus? Sure! Why not. Whole Foods bakery section… A basket of  some seven grain zero taste bread that will back me up for days? Thank you sir, I’ll have another!

It doesn’t matter what they’re passing out, if there is food, and IT IS FREE, I am in. Much like a wedding reception or any party where they are passing out hors d’oeuvres, I will bee line straight to the food source, ditching whatever conversation I’m engaged in, (in this case it’s my shopping cart) to make sure that I get my hands on that spring roll (and yes, I would like to dip, please)…. And I will then stake out the door that the waiter came through, coordinate with my fellow fat f*ck friends who also eagerly await the “tuna tartar,” to make sure we’ve covered all points of exit/entry and have hit every different tray and option (BTW, Waiter with the caviar/creme fraiche– looks-fancy-but-really-just-filler-appetizer-BS?  You can keep walking. I prefer your friend with the fried stuff). But I digress….
The point is, I have taken food sampling to a whole new level and my “ahh, what do we have here” delight over a freebie, has tooooootally rubbed off on Baby-Ko.  No matter what, it seems that these days, when I go to a Whole Foods where they have their pizza bar, I am compelled (NO MATTER WHAT TIME OF THE DAY IT IS), to ask for a sample of the pizza. Yes. The pizza. Not a bite of the tuna in the case. Or a shaving the turkey they are cutting. A SAMPLE OF PIZZA, which if you are familiar with WF, means they are pretty much slicing me a goddamn piece and ME pretending that “Hmm, yes. So good. Do I want this for dinner? Huh. Hmm. The pesto may be a little too strong for me. I’m gonna walk around and think about it.” (Cut to me in the check out line, thankful I had a little snack to tie me over to dinner…. In ten minutes). 
Today though, my compulsion to sample all things free and greasy made me feel a little guilty. As I was shoveling “today’s special” in my mouth, prepared to make up an excuse for why I wouldn’t actually BUY it, Baby-Ko started to beg me for  a bite of “pisa” (said like the tower).  I gave him the rest of my sample (more like a nibble since I had pretty much devoured it), but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.
“Mo Pisa Mo. Pisa, Mommy. Mo.” 
“All done, baby. No more pizza,” I said loud enough for the clerk to hear me.
“Oh, does he want some?”
“Aw, no. We’re fine. Really. We’re okay,” I said eyeing the perfect end piece that could easily get stuffed in to my, I mean, Baby-Ko’s mouth. 
Without missing a (my pathetic) beat, the clerk handed me a small slice. Wanting to keep it to myself, but feeling the entire deli line staring at me, I begrudgingly handed it over to Baby-Ko. “Pisa mommy,” he said smiling and getting it all over his face.
“Yes, pizza,” I said, about to bolt from the counter of shame.
He held up the slice in his fist. “No mo pisa, mommy. All done.” WHAT?! Just like that? What about the starving kid act we had going? All done? Really?!  
With my now second slice of pizza in hand, I smiled politely to the clerk and said, “This is delicious. We’ll take two slices to go please.”
“Thought so,” the clerk said (with his eyes).
Well… So much for being 5 pounds away from the coveted wedding weight. Looks like I’m having pizza tonight for dinner. Again….
FILED UNDER: A Little Life

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