Okay, what I'm about to tell you really happened to me. None of it is embellished, even a little.
I leave you with that disclaimer, because I still find it hard to believe, myself.
We live in Utah. My wife has a health problem that keeps her in bed for a couple weeks. The neighborhood, organized by our LDS ward, immediately jumps in, and offers to bring us dinner for a couple weeks.
I give the obligatory feeble objections, and eventually accept the hospitality. It's what happens here. We've been on the other side of the equation enough times, and the help was appreciated.
So, anyway, about a week into this, a car pulls up. I look out, expecting to see one of our neighbors, bringing us that night's dinner. Nope. There is a sign on the top of the car that reads, "Papa John's Pizza!"
You see where I'm going with this? It turns out, one of our neighbors decided to provide dinner that night by - wait for it - buying us a few pizzas. I mean, sure, they included a few two-liter bottles of soda, an order of wings, an order of garlic sticks, and an order of those cinnamon sticks.
The point is, IT WASN'T HOME-MADE!
I'll be honest. I haven't forgotten it. I think about it every time I see these people. The father in the family tried to make it up a year or so later by mowing our lawn for a month, after I had my ACL replaced. It was almost comical. I'm all, "Hey Mike, thanks for mowing our lawn! AND THANKS FOR THE PAPA JOHN'S PIZZA YOU GOT US FOR DINNER!"
Yeah, that's right, a-hole - my memory is like a steel trap!