The Dirt Field

I went to the local kabob place for lunch today, and ordered one of everything because I was (a) unable to commit to one particular dish and (b) still high from getting my tuition surplus refund check. I wasn’t feeling particularly thirsty, but there was a drink on the menu called doogh that was described as being a “homemade yogurt drink”. It sounded sweet and creamy, and was only $1.95, so ordered it. I couldn’t help but wonder, however, why it was so inexpensive. Now I know.

It was disgusting. Nobody could possibly want it.

It tasted like sour yogurt and cucumbers blended together into a thin liquid. It seemed more like something that would be in a vial at a gynecologist’s lab or used to marinate a shank of meat – neither of which are things I’d ever want to sip over ice.

I did not finish it.

There was also a small child running wildly and loudly through the restaurant. Within moments of my sitting down, the little monster gravitated towards my table, ostensibly drawn in by the brightly colored highlighters I use for studying. He came so close and reached his little hands out, prompting me to snarl, “Go away, evil little child.” He stared back at me and made no attempt to leave, so I waved at him and said, “Bye bye!” He smiled, waved back, and squeaked, “Bye bye!”

And it was actually really cute.