Pizza. Shifty. Swim.

Today, I decided to ask my Facebook fans for some creative starter words; a noun, an adjective, and a verb. So, this post is based on Kelly's suggestions of pizza-shifty-swim. Thank you, Kelly! Below find the result.

      Most days, the amount of crap piled atop my desk outweighs taking a lunch break.  So, I typically brown bag it and eat at my desk. Today was no different, and at one o'clock, my leftover Fazzoli's pizza was calling my name.

      Mouth watering, I shuffled to the break room, cracked open the fridge and rooted for my kitten-eats-Godzilla lunch thermal. The fact that I'm a thirty-two-year-old woman who carries a lunch bag featuring a cuddly kitten annihilating a ginormous, pointy-toothed monster shows that I'm not only quirky, but perhaps also hints that I may be a little off balance. Since lunches have a habit of disappearing at my office, I've relied on this perceived crazy to keep my food safe--a strategy that's worked for me so far.           

      My heart sank as I reached into my lunch bag. My pizza was gone! I searched around the room, and the most suspicious thing I noticed was Betsy from Accounting scanning the room, her shifty eyes gauging for onlookers before picking her nose.

      Dejected, I walked to the window and peered out. For some reason, my eyes focused on Ilene, who walked along the sidewalk, heading for the gazebo. And even though her paper plate looked like a spec from our fourth-floor window, I swear I saw my heavenly slice of Fazzoli's pizza on it.

      Without hesitation, I rushed down four flights of stairs, not wanting to wait for the thinks-its-a-30-story elevator. By the time I hit the ground floor, I wore a sweat mustache and was pretty sure I had pit stains. I dashed out of the building and headed for the gazebo, where I found Ilene biting into my pizza.

      "Ilene!" I said, voice sounding as crazy as someone who believes a kitten could actually eat Godzilla.

      Ilene looked up. Her eyes were a little too wide and a flush had crept up to her forehead.

      "Hey, Pen. How's it going?" asked Ilene.

      "It'd be a whole lot better if you weren't eating my lunch," I said.

      Looking a bit offended, Ilene stood. "I don't know what you're talking about." She took a couple of steps toward me.

      At this point, Ilene was standing between me and the rest of my lunch. And although she had already taken a couple of bites and was five inches taller and outweighed me by at least fifty pounds, I was beginning to feel like the kitten on my lunch thermal. So, what else could I do? I moved a step closer.

      Ilene, pizza in hand, loomed over me.

      "That's mine," I said, pointing to the pizza.

      Holding the pizza just out of reach, Ilene gave me a sideways glance. "Prove it, you crazy bitch."

      That's when I noticed the fountain. If she wanted crazy, she was clearly dealing with the wrong hungry person. I snaked my way around her, until I was in the middle of the gazebo and her back faced the exit. She looked slightly confused.

      "You know," I said, "for the head of Human Resources, you're really not a nice person."

      Ilene rolled her eyes.

      I started shifting my weight left to right, getting lower and lower. If Ilene had been confused before, she was dumbstruck now. She could've snared a few flies with her gaping mouth. I leaped forward, grabbing the pizza and flicking it safely to a gazebo seat. Hunger and anger pushed me forward. My shoulders sunk into her body, low enough to move her backward, so much so, she ended up taking a swim in the fountain.

      By that time, a crowd had gathered, presumably to put the entire confrontation on YouTube. However, as security came to haul me away, other coworkers came forward with stories of Ilene's bullying. These folks cheered and formed a protective circle around me. Not only did I salvage the rest of my lunch, but I also managed to expose Ilene for the monster she was. So, in the end, I guess the kitten really did eat Godzilla.