Attack of The Heart Shaped Pizza

We'll start with Friday night at the pizzeria Europa.
Host Sister: Mom, let's do something really lovely tonight and go out for pizza. Olivia, is that alright with you?
Is that alright with me? Umm what do you think?
Walking in to the pizzeria, we were greeted by the owner who of course knows my host family and greeted them in the only way an Italian knows how. After our grand entrance and greeting almost half of the resturant because every pretty much knows everyone, we went to sit down.
I looked around on the way to our seats and saw old people, more old people, babies, old people, and then, a smexy, so this is what everyone was on about, "Italian Stallion." It was like he was the poster boy for the Italian Stallions. I suppose I did what they call, "making eyes" with someone, and then we found our table. I sat down and had a perfect, far-enough-away view of my find. Far enough away so he couldn't catch me staring like a perve yet, close enough to see details.
Then it was time to order. (this is where it gets kind of gross but, pretty much the best part of the story.)
The owner came back and promptly made himself comfortable at our table to take our order. He is exactly what you think of when you immagine an Italian. Gold necklaces with crosses, gold rings, an earring in one ear, loud, happy, and in control. When it came to my turn, I told him to make mine a suprise just like any "rebelious", "free spirited" tourist.
We then waited. I stared some more at my future boyfriend, and then came out three pizzas; each one big enough to split among 4 people. Two of which (one for me, one for my host sister) were heart shaped. My host sister's was nice, light, fluffy, and completely healthy so as not to ruin her pretty, Italian figure and perfect Italian complexion.
Mine, instead, was bound to do some major damage and I was never so excited to eat something in my life. It pretty much looked like somthing my brother would make as a late saturday night, expirement for dinner when my parents go out and leave him in charge of me and my little sister.
The heart pizza looked like the future of mine but, I dug in. My first thought wasn't really a thought, it was more like a bunch that my brain spluttered out all at once and it turned into mush. A delicious combo of mozzarella, sausage, prosciutto, mushrooms, eggplant and salame all on top of spectacular tomato sauce and crust so good, if they don't serve it in heaven, I don't want to go. I ate the whole thing. Nothing wasted. That's when I mentioned it was hot and asked if my face was pink. My host mom said yes and then kind of muttered under her breath "because you ate all those carbs..." She must have just been jealous that she had to eat a pizza with lettuce on it and I downed a pizza capable of clogging my arteries on the spot, despite being in plain view of an almost equally delicious Italian boy. (He was long forgotten when I layed eyes on my new found love, the heart shaped pizza.)

Oh, yes. I am indeed still feeling the greasy results. I would so do it again.
Picture soon!
-Olive