You are a) hungover, b) on a gluten-free diet and resentful about it, c) emotional or d) hormonal. You don’t order pizza in restaurants, you do it in the privacy of your own home. Like you’re having an affair. You will binge on the lot and then feel guilty and wish you’d just had a salad. It’s hard to feel good after pizza – but it’s hard not to feel AMAZING just before it.
You are hysterically tidy. Everything is always folded neatly. You always have a very well-made bed. Sushi is an extension of your control. That need for order is met in abundance when you open the box and see all those neat little identical rows. It’s clean and civilised – like you. You are less fun to play games with than you think and you pretend you only read very serious literature.
When you’re too embarrassed to say, “Look, I just want a massive pizza,” you order Lebanese so people won’t think you’re greedy. It’s healthy, yes, but there is also the pitta bread element. The halloumi is also salty like fries, so that will keep you quiet. You tend to agree to watch things you know you won’t like (“OK, that Scandi film about the single mother-turned cop who uncovers a Satantic ring terrorising a small Norwegian village does sound good”) and you love a peasanty blouse.
This is the unapologetic choice. You are the person who goes to the cinema and raids the pick ‘n’ mix. You usually have at least four cans of full fat coke in your fridge and not a lot of patience with ditherers. When in a restaurant, you’re not the sort of person who checks what everyone else is ordering before making your mind up. You don’t care. You’ll have the crispy duck pancakes, and no, they’re not for sharing.
You are cheerful and chaotic. You were rarely told when to go to bed growing up and you talk to your houseplants. And yet, you are quite strict when you order Indian – usually in a slight (and unidentifiable) accent to suggest authority and knowledge. You like staying up late listening to music and you love cats.