The dream returns every year around this time. Although I’m sound asleep, I rise at 5 on Christmas morning and tiptoe quietly, like I’m 4 years old, down a creaky stairwell to our living room. Where our Scotch pine, adorned with ornaments made of genuine Rascal House gift cards has sprouted dozens of Rascal House pizzas from its mighty base. Steam awakens my senses, creating a hearth-like ambiance usually only seen in greeting cards and vintage Coca-Cola ads. Only greeting cards and vintage Coca-Cola ads don’t smell like fresh-baked double-proofed dough, signature Rascal House sauces and 100% pure provolone cheese that takes me back to my college days at Cleveland State, the formative years of my pizza education.
Our stockings, which are made from recycled pizza boxes, hang on the mantel. They overflow with Rascal House Waffle Fries, Garlic Sesame Breadsticks and Buffalo Wings basking in BBQ, Honey Mustard and Sweet Chili Sauce.
It’s truly invigorating opening up to you about my innermost thoughts and fantasies. I know you have lots of questions, so allow me to ask them for you. Do I currently own more than 12 pairs of Rascal House pajamas? Did my wife really request a Rascal House Chicken Sandwich instead of silver on our 25th anniversary? Do our kids still sleep in beds that resemble Rascal House delivery cars?
Hmm. I guess some things are better left unsaid.