when food is the best medicine

I'm having one of those days, one of those terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days. I missed the subway twice today and left my lunch on the countertop this morning and I think I broke my iPod waiting for the bus and on top of all that, I feel like there's not an unmarried man under 50 left in this city because all the 23-year-old girls are already dating them, and I feel bloated and ugly though I'm not even PMSing at all. I'm just cranky and awful and not quite sure if I should just climb into bed now or take some time to cry first. And then I remembered I haven't even eaten anything today and I'm ravenous, so I order a stromboli and walk down to the corner in the rain to pick it up—and lo and behold! There's the pizza man, he's fully under 50 and he's smiling at me and flirting and trying to make a little time. And I've never been so happy to see a stranger in my life. Thank fucking god for the pizza man, or I swear to christ I was about to hang myself.