I’m old. So old, that when I was a little girl we weren’t allowed to wear pants to school. (And unlike my best friends, Marybeth and Dorothy Parker, who went to Resurrection of Our Lord, I went to public school.) Instead, my sister Sherry and I would walk, in the freezing cold, to J. Hampton Moore Elementary School in Philadelphia with pants on under our skirts. (Or, if it was a day like today, our winter “leggings” — the ancient-equivalent of modern-day snow pants). Then we’d head straight to the wet and musty “cloak room,” where we’d first have to remove our ugly red rubber galoshes (under which, to our great mortification, were our plastic-bag-covered shoes). Then we’d remove our pants (being careful the boys didn’t get a sneak-peek) before sitting down at our desks in our skirts.
When the weather was kinder you could find us, skirts a-flying, in the schoolyard, playing a game called Pizza Pizza Daddy-O. Funny: as of this morning, I couldn’t remember exactly how the song went, or exactly what we did when we’d sing it, but when I sat down to write a post about a bunch of happenings on the local pizza-front (more about that later), parts of the song, hidden in the recesses of my memory, so to speak, quickly came to mind:
When I found this video, it hit home so hard I started crying. (You’ll forgive me: I turn 50 in a few weeks.) Who knew that while my sister and play-pals and I were singing “Pizza Pizza Daddy-O” in Philadelphia in 1967, these sweet little girls, in their pretty little jumpers (who probably rarely if ever had to wear “leggings” to school) were doing exactly the same thing in L.A.? But more to the point of this food blog, if you were celebrating your 50th birthday next month and you were to, say, take a small group of friends out to a restaurant to celebrate, where would you go if? Give me two answers: (1) if money were no object, and (2) if you were looking for bargain-priced fun. P.S. No, it’s not lost on me that “Pizza, Pizza Daddy-O” would certainly be an appropriate answer to my latter query.