Love Among the Pizza Boxes

There's another reeeeeeally awkward silence.
“So. How old are you?” I tried to sound bright and happy. But this dude’s a drag.
But a pretty studly drag if I do say so myself.
I think he's mocking me when he answers, “Nineteen. Just turned.” Either that or he's honestly trying hard to sound happy.
Is he high? Maybe just tired. Gram tells me to think the best of everyone. So… I’ll just stick with tired for now…
He stares at his half-eaten pizza slice. Then looks up at me. “So… Ever thought of becoming an astronaut?”
“No thank you. I prefer not floating. Especially while peeing. The thought of having gravity-defying pee has never been appealing… Ever thought of not being a pizza delivery boy?”
Well that sounded kind of mean. Oops. Sorry Gram.
“No thank you. The thought of not being able to wear this frickin awesome hat is just unbearable,” he says, obviously being sarcastic, and gestures with the hat in his hand.
“Well it is a mighty fine hat I must say…”
He laughs. Wow. Well. Uhm… Can you spell hot?
Shut up, Shayla.
You sound like a bimbo.
“But in all seriousness – my dad’s the owner of the one I work at. He tortures me with a life of pizza. I know the whole history of Pizza Hut. By heart. So if ever you want to know the story, just give me a call.”
Was that an invitation? No… No. I think he was just being funny. Does that mean I should laugh? No. Be sympathetic? No…
“How fun for you.” There. That’s what I decided on.
How gay was that.