A weekend fun-raiser

This holiday weekend, instead of focusing only on fun and doing something for ourselves, we had a chance to do something different, something that would benefit others, something that would be a totally selfless act.

"Look, honey," I said, pointing to a flyer I had brought home from work. "Let's help fight autism by eating pizza!"

Uno's Pizzeria would donate 20% of our bill toward fighting autism, if only we would make the enormous sacrifice of eating what is arguably the world's best pizza. It would be tough, but the cause demanded commitment. If WE didn't consume a Primo Pepperoni -- with chunky tomato sauce, peppy pepperoni, and a thick crust that is personally my sole reason for eating this pizza -- and donate money from it, who would?

Our decision to participate gave us a renewed sense of purpose. All weekend, as we pursued other, more selfish activities, like shopping for groceries, we anticipated engaging in our quest. "It's almost time," we would encourage each other, "time to fight autism!"

We even trained for the event. In anticipation of ordering one of Uno's magnificent desserts (each of which is enough to feed the entire population of Minnesota), we refrained from eating dessert earlier that day. A chocolate chip cookie may have sneaked onto our plates at lunch, but we simply reclassified it as a vegetable. We were happy to make this sacrifice.

Finally the time came. We dressed accordingly, putting on baggy clothes to leave room for expanding waistlines. We didn't want to cheat the needy children of this country by eating within our means.

When the menus came, we decided to go all out. After all, this was for a good cause. Forget our usual order of just a small pizza. We ordered salad. We ordered drinks. We ordered the Chef's Choice Deep Dish Pizza, in which we got to select our own toppings ("We'll take one of each"). With each dish, we cheered each other on. "One more bite for autism!" we said while waving around a forkful of gooey cheese.

I am ashamed to say that we did experience a moment's hesitation on ordering dessert. We had underestimated the ability of our baggy clothes to accommodate the food necessary to fight for this worthy cause. We struggled to breathe. But we summoned, from deep within us, the will power to continue on our quest. (Plus, the waitress told us that the enormous chocolate chip cookie in the Deep Dish Sundae was all warm and gooey.) We told her to bring it on. "We can't quit now!" we said. "We will see this through to the end!"

We were so comatose at the end of dessert that we nearly forgot to give the waitress our coupon asking her to donate the 20%, but we managed to lurch in her direction just at the last minute. "Here!" we said, gasping. "We want to help...fight...autism!" And we collapsed on the floor.

Okay, so we didn't collapse. At least not at the restaurant. We did collapse at home, but it was with the satisfaction of those who know they have done their best on behalf of others.

Because of the toll this took on our bodies, our next effort to erase the world's ills will need to involve something a little less strenuous. "Help fight breast cancer by eating ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery!" sounds perfect.