I love pizza. I want to marry it, but it would just be to eat

In the playful words of Mike Birbiglia, “I love pizza. I want to marry it, but it would just be to eat her family at the wedding,” we hear humor woven into truth, for beneath the jest lies the recognition of how deeply our passions can blur the line between devotion and desire. To say one would marry pizza is absurd, yet it reveals the human tendency to treat what we love most with the reverence of a vow. The twist—that the marriage would end in consuming her “family”—reminds us of the tension between love and appetite, between cherishing and devouring.

The wedding here is used as metaphor, the highest form of human union, to describe an attachment so great it becomes covenantal. Birbiglia exaggerates affection into matrimony, but in doing so, he reflects how humans often elevate simple pleasures—food, music, even objects—into symbols of comfort and joy. Yet the jest is edged with irony: true love seeks to preserve, but appetite consumes. Thus, the “marriage” to pizza would be doomed, because its very object of devotion would vanish.

History offers a parallel in the story of Midas, who begged that all he touched be turned to gold. His wish, born of desire, soon became his torment, for even food and drink turned to metal, leaving him to starve. Like Birbiglia’s imagined wedding, Midas’s tale teaches us that unchecked hunger, whether for riches or for pleasure, destroys what it seeks to love. To consume wholly is to lose what was precious in the first place.

At its heart, Birbiglia’s jest is a commentary on the paradox of human longing. We often love things so deeply that we risk destroying them by excess. The family of pizza—the bread, the cheese, the sauce—symbolizes the abundance we crave, yet also the danger of overindulgence. By clothing his truth in laughter, he invites us to examine our desires without shame, but with awareness of their power over us.

Thus, let this lesson endure: humor often hides wisdom. Love what nourishes you, but do not love it to the point of ruin. Whether it be pizza or passion, let your joy be tempered by restraint, lest your devotion consume the very thing you claim to cherish. For even in jest, Birbiglia reminds us of the oldest truth—that balance is the key to delight, and that laughter itself can be a teacher of wisdom.