On almost every Friday night of the past year, I’ve reported to my brother and sister-in-law’s house at 5 p.m. with a bottle of wine. They, in turn, have three kids, two pizzas, and a salad. We call this ritual—simply, magnificently—Pizza Friday.
I won’t go so far as to say Pizza Friday saved me during the pandemic, but it made my life a lot better. In the extreme lull of life under COVID, without extracurricular activities or a social life, my brothers’ families were my main hangs, whether the order of the day was pizza, whiffle ball, or “Frozen II” dress-up. Pre-pandemic, I always had photos of my eight nieces and nephews in my apartment and office, but during the pandemic, I got the full, 3D experience of aunting: sticky hands, baby sharks, and all.
