All sleepovers include pizza; your friends were just unlucky that you liked pineapple on yours, and insisted you get your own separate pizza, so as to not "contaminate" theirs.

When that inevitable knock came at the door, and you answered it, you found a worker holding each box of pizza, piled upon one another. Before you could hand him a tip and take the boxes, he pulled away.

"Which one of you in there ordered a Hawaiian?" He grunted, eyebrows knitted together. "Absolutely horrible taste."