They say we always want what we can't have, and we tire of what we do have--to the point where we'll take advantage of what we do have.

I work at a local pizzeria called Pakula's, home of the Frickin Chicken (which is featured below: chicken cutlet, bacon, golden BBQ drizzle) and other delectables such as the Meltdown, Sno Cap, and Waffle Fry pizza.

I expected to be disgusted by pizza at this point. But the truth is, late at night when I'm teasing myself with food pictures on Yelp and Instagram, I find myself drooling over a cheesy slice, hot enough to be the erotic centerfold in "Bon Appétit." I want it for the night, and I want it to be there for breakfast, too.

Before I go on, you all must know: I've had a rough relationship with cheese, one in which I went from eating Kraft American cheese slices straight out of the wrapper to being traumatized by T.G.I. Friday's Five Cheese Mac 'n Cheese to craving a charcuterie and cheese board on a nightly basis. I've also had a childhood relatively devoid of pizza, other than the couple times a year my dad would offer to buy Pizza Hut when they sent out coupons. I didn't even like it much and maxed out at two slices of a medium pie. You can understand why little Wendy would have never guessed she would end up working at a pizzeria.

Popcorn was never a favorite of mine, but I liked it enough to want it. I held a job at AMC Theatres, too, and never dodged that one comment: "You're so lucky; you can have all the free popcorn you want!" I won't deny that it was a great perk and that I fully took advantage of it during my nine months there, to the point where I could have easily regurgitated buttery kernels from my burps the next morning after eating popcorn until 3 a.m. My hair and clothes were marinated in vaporized butter and salt; I radiated popcorn all around my house and I loved it.

Every week I came into work, I heard the sizzle of the popper and deeply inhaled the scent of luscious coconut oil butter. It was enticing, I had to have it, I indulged--and so by the end of the first day of work each week, I didn't want anything more than to pop those kernels all the way into space so I would never have to breathe in another one ever again.

The craving would be revived every time I was away from the theaters for more than five days, and while I did continue to stuff my face despite the previous week's repugnance, the satisfaction I got from the sizzle and the butter in the latter months of working there was never as complete as in those initial weeks.

I still told myself that I loved popcorn. We were just going through a monotonous period, that's all; nothing between us had changed. That's what I forced myself to believe.

Only when I left AMC did I realize that I was lying to myself and that things between me and popcorn were just never the same after we reached our climax that night at 3 a.m. I had enjoyed it, I had a ton of fun, and I had no regrets about the time we spent together. However, the only reason I continued to indulge was not because I really wanted the popcorn itself. The scent, the sizzle, and the satisfaction it gave my stomach drew me back--but that was just all physical. It was the convenience, too, because I worked around it all the time and it was always available, so hey, why not? And I confused that for love.

Now that I'm not working around popcorn, I never crave it significantly more than any other food. I may walk past the movie theater and cruise down buttery lane, sprinkled with reminisce-salt. But that is all--I won't run up there and get myself a bag of it because it was just an infatuation, and infatuations have an obsessive phase followed by an end. Obsessions don't last forever.

Often, obsession tries to camouflage itself as unconditional love. The fatal difference is, one disappears as fast as it comes and the other requires a true commitment to survive.

Pizza was never a favorite of mine, either, but I liked it enough to want it. I was reluctant to eat pizza on the job because if it became an obsession, who knows what kind of greasy cheeseball I would become? I took it slow and hesitated to feed every temptation (which, by the way, were plentiful).

The outcome: all the tomato sauce, crispy crusts, fresh mozzarella, and toppings I could dream of--and I could not be happier.

It's a different relationship with pizza than with popcorn. Maybe I indulged too quickly in too short of a time span with popcorn. Or maybe pizza and I simply have a deeper connection that surpasses the scent, the sizzle, and the stomach satisfaction. The more I see it and learn about it, the more flaws I find and the more flavors I taste--regardless of its imperfection--the more it intrigues me. When I'm at work, I'm happy to be melting in its aroma, its cheesy crispy composition, and its sensational satisfaction that it gives to every part of me, not just my stomach.

That's how it should be. True commitment means loving what we have through and through--incessantly, wholly, eternally--no matter how much we can get. Hell, our love for it should not only remain, but rather, continue to grow upwards toward infinity if true devotion is there.

Working at a pizza place has taught me this difference between obsession and devotion. This is the type of love that does not become passionately aggressive, only to die down again during the course of a day; rather, it is the type that is steadily strong but still faint enough to not be controlling your life. When what we love is around, we're not hyperaware of its presence, but when it's gone, we sense it physically, emotionally, even subconsciously. We tend to end up daydreaming about it when we don't even try to, and we still get excited every time we see it, even though its image is always in our minds. We don't take it for granted ever; we crave it and would still go out of our way for it even though we know it's guaranteed to be there the next day, and the next day, and the next day...

When I worked at the movie theaters, I had free movies but only went in about five times over the course of nine months. At the pizzeria, I now eat more pizza (and more cheese, the favorite part about my love) per week than I ever have, and not just during work when it's convenient. I want it for the night, and I want it to be there for breakfast, too. And then I would still go to work at a pizzeria the next day. That's love right there.

It all amounts to this little pizza love advice: If you're ever not sure if you love someone or want to marry someone, take a moment and analyze: do you love the person more than pizza? If it's a yes, your partner is unequivocally a keeper.

Sorry if that was too cheesy.

In case it wasn't cheesy enough, here's some gooey pizza porn:

Thanks to Pakula's Pizza for allowing me to feature their edible artwork!

From top, left to right: classic Margarita; Sausage Pepperoni Bacon; Bacon Cheddar Waffle Fry; Sausage Peppers Onions; Penne a la Vodka; Chicken Bacon Ranch; classic Cheese; Pan Pepperoni; Sicilian; Whole Wheat Margarita; Buffalo Chicken.