I like seat warmers!

Cold soup

He sits beside me with legs crossed. He screams, attempting to will the Thrashers to victory even though they're down by two. His freshly cut hair hovers above his head, which he delicately caresses - he's had surgery on his nose recently. Sometimes I forget this, like when I was throwing him the stuffed football and almost hit his face.

But what interests me most is not the newly fixed nose, that allows 21% oxygen to surge up his newly unclogged nostrils and fill his lungs with what most of us know as life. It's what sits BELOW the nares... it's the rough patch of hair that perks forward. It's Sameer's moustache.

And, folks, it's not just any moustache. Like some people name their pets, like some people name their cars, like some people name their toes, Sameer has chosen to name his moustache (Ok, so people don't really name their toes... but whatever!). And what has he named it? Rover, you say? Spot? Alex? Yosef? Jon-Benet? No. It's named Gazpacho. I reference it as "it," but in all honesty, I'm unaware of what gender has been attached to this name, but it sounds masculine...?

To Sameer's defense, and I quote: "I did it before Sanjaya."

To raise an eyebrow

The art of eyebrow threading attracts women of all backgrounds. Why? Because it's a quick fix,and everyone likes a quick fix. It's the fast food equivalent in the beauty world: you walk into a salon, you hand over six crinkled dollar bills to the salon, and fifteen minutes later, you are gazing at your own eyes in the mirror of your car visor, amazed that your facial features are that much sharper than before.

Simply astonishing!

Today, I graced Ruby's in Decatur with my post-work day presence. Why is it notable that I was there after work? Because your after work period is the optimal time for the Quick Fix known as eyebrow threading. You've worked a long day. You want to feel pretty (sorry boys, I'm sure I'm definitely losing you here... well, most of you anyway...).

I saw so many different kinds of people. I saw an African American girl with gold Nike shoes and a chain belt. I saw an elderly Indian women complete with her walking cane and thick pastel rimmed glasses. And of course, I saw young college-aged girls who arrived to Ruby's together, breaking the monotony of silence with their Omigod!'s and Whatever!'s. There were young professionals in their perfectly pressed slacks, the crease on the front only slightly flattened.

And there was me, a pediatric intern, hoping for a quick fix to make my eyebrows arch just a little higher when I ponder the diffential diagnosis of a complicated patient.