PIZZA WITH DAD

of course the first thing we had to do after dad had been gone so long, toiling away in deep dish territory, is get him back on track with a good old slice of the greasy stuff, new york style, folded down the middle. 

this wants to be a paragraph waxing poetic about pizza but look. i'll spare us all.

he point is i took this little series of photos on my phone, and after scrolling through them with brandon at least a five times in bed later that night and laughing every time, i decided they warranted a blog post. i call it, "no really huck, you do want that pizza. just eat it." 

(and i am sorry huck but you seem to have inherited my awful pursed lips face i make when i'm thinking about things . . . it's genetic and cannot be helped. blame your grandpa lovin.)

"yeah, that's pretty good, dad."