4. Book-It

Yesterday, my friend and coworker suggested a trip to Target over lunch, because she had some items to return. I'm not a shopper-kind-of-girl, but Target is the lamp to my moth. (I've felt a bit guilty about it lately, given the brouhaha over its support of an allegedly homophobic candidate in Minnesota, but I had an enlightening conversation with my LGBT colleague and have since resolved my misgivings.) Plus, I have some gift cards still to expend from my wedding...and Target has a Pizza Hut.

In the 1980s, "book it" meant one of two things:

1.  To quickly vacate the premises
2.  A Pizza Hut program supporting kids' reading 

I was an exceptionally nerdy kid, whose (few) friends had to cajole her out of her book to play outside.  My mother laments that on family road trips through devastatingly beautiful scenic vistas, neither of her children's attention could be torn from their books for longer than a murmured appreciation of the view.  But I was AWESOME at the Book-It program.  Each quota read entitled the student to a certificate for a free personal pan pizza at any participating Pizza Hut restaurant.  Also distributed at the restaurant were these fabulous star stickers, one for each of five spots on a button.  Plus, the star stickers got fancier every year!  (My internet research reveals the program is still active, but it doesn't appear to involve buttons anymore.  On the positive side, I apparently could make bank off them on e-bay.)

Book-It started a family tradition for us of lunch at Pizza Hut.  As more spawn were added to the clan, the Book-It lunches eventually grew to include, in addition to me, my brother, and my mom: my grandma, my aunt, and all four of her kids.  We're all grown now, but we still relish our Pizza Hut lunches, and will send cameraphone pictures of posed attendees to those who miss any particular event.  Traditionally, we'd each order our own personal pan pizza -- with toppings of our choice!  -- and share a couple of orders of breadsticks and a pitcher of Pepsi or root beer.

My coworker friend emailed me this morning to let me know she enjoyed her Target Pizza Hut personal pan pepperoni pie, despite misgivings about it.  (She's European, and thus has more sense about sensible eating than most of us Americans do, imho.)  I generally eschew fast food, but Pizza Hut is a soft spot for me.  We had milk with ours yesterday (again, Europeans are so sensible!), but it still made me miss my family.