The Premeditated Pizza

The young lad with the milky face, God luv him, looks like he's about keel over in front of me. Bus is nearly there, man! Get up! Power of the mind...hhmmmmmm...
But no, he's nodding away, poor child. School sucked the life o' him. More gel in his hair than hair itself so you can see the scalp all around. Protest Boardwear™. Trendy an'all.
Ok, back to thinking about the meeting wi' the missus this afternoon. Nice restaurant. Great food. Croatian bangers and mash. Better than the ones back home. More taste. And a portion of Austro-Hungarian Sauerkraut...
"The customs official was simply being recalcitrant. Pure extortion if you ask me. Asking that kinda money for the import duty of a private painting!" I says to her, downing my second Zlatorog Pivo.
"I'm sorry but I told you this would happen. It's the way it is here. Old red tape left over from empire. Why, you could be dealing with art on the black market, who knows you know. They always have hypothetical arguments in store."
"I'm simply getting my sister's painting, which she painted at the innocent age of 18, to the safety of our flat. It has her name on it and she also sent the value estimation - summing up the cheap canvas and frame and oil paint. But nothing's enough for those guys. They're always making up something to get money out of you."
"By the way, there's pizza in the oven for you when you get home. You know what to do in exchange don't you?" "Yes of course, darling I know..."