The word plethora is most commonly misused to mean "a huge amount of something" instead of "an excess of something above what is wanted or useful." I know I'm guilty of weakly using it to mean the former.
But, in this case, I mean its true definition. Just plain too much. An excess to the point of comedy.
Ben, Amy, Ian and I met at Mr. Pizza for a late lunch. We always order two pizzas because we are vegetarians and they are not. So, Ian and I ordered out usual Korean pizza (potatoes, spicy chili and corn with cheese crust) and the salad bar. The salad bar is my favorite. It's not very good by American standards, but I like it better than the pizza, so it holds my focus. After they take our order and Ian and I are munching on our iceberg mixed salads, the waitress comes over and explains that they've mixed up our order (when we have two pizzas, they always manage to mess it up somehow) and Ben and Amy's pizza ended up with the cheese crust. Amy doesn't like the cheese crust and Ian's tired of our incorrect pizza orders, so he asked them to remake it. We figured they'd toss (or let the staff eat) the backwards pizzas, so we would be waiting a little longer for new ones. No problem. But then, out come our pizzas, the cheese crust on Ben and Amy's and not on ours. The waitress explains that new pizzas will come after we eat these ones. We try to tell her that this is fine and we'll just deal with it. After all, two more pizzas would mean one whole pie for each person. But, she didn't understand us and about twenty minutes later, two more pies come, the crusts correct.
Our table. You can see that both of us still had two pieces left from the original pizzas. So, that's thirty-two slices of pizza that were available to four people. Ian and I put down one pizza. For the record, I had one slice and Ian ate seven. As I mentioned, I'm more a fan of offerings at the salad bar. We sent the second pizza home with Ben, figuring his metabolism could handle it better.
That's a plethora.