Hey there, lovely readers! It’s your gal Tina back at it again with yet another tale that might resonate just a tad too much for some of us. Today, I want to dive into the glorious realm of “what ifs”—you know, that delightful abyss where we sometimes find ourselves dwelling on those perfectly unspoken words that could’ve changed everything. Yes, I’m talking about a moment in time that looms large in my brain, like a comet striking through the galaxy of my otherwise mundane existence. Spoiler alert: it involves me, a missed opportunity, and a slightly embarrassing comedy of errors.

Let’s rewind to a few years back—to a time when I was blissfully navigating the choppy waters of young adulthood. Picture it: I’m at a quaint little café, sipping the best caramel macchiato known to humankind (seriously, this place should give classes on making coffee). I’m sitting across from my best friend, Jamie, who, bless their heart, has an uncanny knack for getting me to spill the tea on my inner thoughts. And on this rainy Tuesday, the topic of conversation veers into the realm of him—Ryan, the pizza delivery guy with all the charming awkwardness you’d expect from a 22-year-old who still lives with his mom and delivers the meanest pepperoni pizza in town.

Honestly, Ryan was (and still is) the epitome of the kind of guy I’d always thought was my type. He had that perfect blend of wit and kindness; every time he delivered my order, I’d get butterflies, and not just from the double cheese. But instead of keeping it light and flirting back like I should have, I played it cool, studiously avoiding any sign of a crush like a marathon runner avoiding a water station. After a few too many delivery runs, between stolen glances and an occasional smile, I still didn’t have the nerve to say what needed to be said.

Now, let’s zoom in on the most defining moment—THE moment that haunts my dreams! One fateful Friday evening, I had just binge-watched The Office for the sixth time (no judgment, please; I’m just very loyal to my sitcoms) when Ryan knocked on my door, balancing a pizza box and a half-smile on his face. I flung the door open, immediately struck by how great he looked in his “Pizza Passion” cap. I was practically drooling.

What should have been the start to a beautiful, cheesy love story quickly turned into an awkward exchange as I picked up my pizza—and let’s just say, I was about as smooth as a blender without a lid. Ryan handed me my pizza, and despite my overwhelming urge to ask him out right then and there, all I could muster was, “Thanks for the pizza, Ryan! It’s—uh—really cheesy!” Wow, Tina, real original.

Ryan chuckled awkwardly, and there was this electrifying moment where he almost said something back. But instead, he shrugged and announced, “I’ll see you next week!” as he took a step back. And just like that, the balloon of opportunity deflated and floated away like my last chance at true love in a rom-com.

As he walked away, I stood there, pizza in hand, and suddenly realized I had just let my chance slip through my fingers faster than a slice of pizza could vanish during a Netflix binge. The moment left me on a rollercoaster of feelings: a dash of regret, a sprinkle of embarrassment, and a heaping pile of “What the heck was I thinking?”

“You’re a coward!” I scolded myself, pacing around my living room, various food wrappers crinkling under my feet as I contemplated how my life could have shifted in that one heartbeat. “Why didn’t you just say, ‘Hey, Ryan, you’re kind of cute—want to grab pizza together sometime? I’ll even let you choose the toppings!’” I swear my inner monologue sounded like a dramatic scene from a telenovela, complete with passionate hand gestures.

You see, if I’d just spoken up, my life could have taken a cosmic departure from its uneventful trajectory. I might have found myself curled up on the couch, sharing a pizza with Ryan, navigating deep conversations about which Harry Potter house we both belonged to—or worse, debating which pizza toppings were a culinary sin (pineapple, I’m looking at you).

And then, because I have a tendency for the theatrical (don’t we all?), my mind started to map out an alternate universe where I had become a confident queen of love. In this alternate reality, Ryan and I would have formed a secret pizza society, where we’d hang out every Friday night, putting toppings on pizza while concocting wild theories on why the pizza industry was secretly run by cats. (I mean, it would make sense, right?)

I could imagine Ryan casually flirting, and me throwing back perfectly timed quips until we were both in fits of laughter, sharing dumb jokes like we were the main characters in some quirky romantic comedy. Maybe we’d stay up late, binge-watching our favorite shows, feeding each other pizza like it was an Olympic sport.

I could literally visualize our future filled with cheesy dates—figuratively and literally—attending the annual Pizza Festival in town, holding hands, and thinking, “Wow, this is what real love feels like!” There may even be a wedding in denim jackets because honestly, you can’t deny how rad that would be.

But alas, the clock in my tiny apartment ticked on, reminding me that in my actual reality, I would never know how it felt to have pizza-induced heart palpitations stemming from romantic encounters. Instead, I was left pondering the ever-wearisome game of “what ifs.” What if I had summoned the courage to flirt with Ryan? What if I had confided in Jamie about my feelings before the pizza delivery that fateful day? I could have had the love story of a lifetime—or, you know, at least a few weeks of amusing dates that would make for fantastic blog material.

Growing weary of repetitive thoughts, I plopped down on my couch, pizza staring me down as if it was mocking my failed chances. What a world, huh? All for the fear of rejection. I mean, it’s no secret that rejection in the realm of romance feels like being left out of a group text. Everyone else is invited, and you’re just sitting there, pining for the chance to be part of the laugh fest. Not to mention, it’s downright painful!

But here’s the kicker—life goes on! Days turned into weeks, and while Ryan continued to be the highlight of my pizza nights, I eventually learned to channel my awkward energy into other aspects of life. I got better at flirty banter with strangers and believed that, one day, I’d look back on my pizza ordeal, not with bitter regret, but with quirky nostalgia.

In the end, my thoughts flipped to the age-old adage: “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Of course, looking back, I learned that sometimes the hardest thing can be just saying what’s on your mind. It taught me to value honesty and the subtle potency of words. So, whenever a future opportunity rolled my way, I promised myself to take it—no more missed chances, and definitely no more sad poetry about unspoken feelings!

So, there you have it, friends! A glimpse into the hilariously awkward world of what could have been, and why we should never underestimate the power of speaking up. Until next time, keep your hearts open, your pizza boxes stocked, and never, ever be afraid to say what you really mean because you never know whose life you might change—starting with your very own!

Yours with all the cheesy love,
Tina 🍕💕