I Was Born With Pizza For A Head. This Is My Story.

I’m a little different than the average person.

See, I have a pizza for a head.

Most “normal” heads have hair and skin. Well, my head is literally a pizza pie. A round, flat mashup of cheese, dough, and tomato sauce.

I do have a brain, eyes, ears, a nose, and a mouth. They’re just all housed in the pizza pie sitting atop my neck.

Besides that, I’m just like anyone else.

I’ve got human arms, legs, heart, bones, stomach, poop- and pee-makers, etc.

I stub my toe just like the rest of you. I, too, hate Mondays. I have a driver’s license and my own car. I bought a condo with a great mortgage, thanks to my stellar credit history. I just got promoted to VP in my company.

And most importantly, I have the best family and friends a person — pizza-headed or not — could ever ask for.

You’d think having a pizza for a head would be amazing… Well, yes and no.

“You must be SO popular,” you might be thinking. “Your life must be so awesome!” you might assume.

And I don’t blame you for thinking that: Of all the foods to have as a head, pizza is pretty much the coolest. Who doesn’t love pizza, right?

But that’s for pizza on a plate. To be eaten. As food.

When it’s something you have to live with every day — a major part of your body you see every day in the mirror, a constant reminder that you’re different — it gets more complicated.

I was born this way.

The doctors never figured out how it happened. They told my mom and dad early on — during an ultrasound — that their boy would have a literal pizza for a head. Then they asked if my parents wanted to continue with the pregnancy.

Well, spoiler alert: A few months later, I was born.

The doctor spanked me on the butt, I let out a cry from my pizza-face, and the nurse handed me to my mom and dad. They said I, their baby covered in birth slime and pizza sauce, was their…