Miraal stretches her legs across the wooden bench comfortably, and I worry for her safety. Any minute now, the really mean guy at The Hot Spot counter is going to throw the cash register at her and ask her to sit properly. 'Uh, you wanna take your feet off the bench?' I ask her. She ignores me and twirls a hot pink strand of hair around her finger reflectively. 'These guys are really coordinated, it's cool,' she nods towards a young couple dressed in red for him n' her at a table across from us. I hope it wasn't intentional. I hope mean counter dude can't see her.
A group of tiny girls giggles at a table near us. They're actually really tiny and have to be 10 or something. 'How are parents letting their toddlers out on a weeknight?' I ask Miraal. God, I feel old. If you think your maturity is being taken for granted at home, I suggest you run to The Hot Spot right away and find yourself aging beyond your years. Either that, or a movie at the Atrium. You know how there are all these cranky old ladies at the movies telling you kids to shut the fuck up and sit the hell down? I'm those old ladies.
'O-levels?' she guesses. 'They probably have tuitions in the area.' Suddenly the tiny gigglers have a communal rapture. Someone has just made an entrance. I'm guessing zitty 15-year-old hunk from Math tuition. Nope, it's another chick. 'Amnaaaa!' they all squeal. Jeez girls, calm down. It's just...uh...it's someone very stylish.
Amna has on those huge glasses that make everyone look like my 9th grade Islamiat teacher and her bangs are all pouffed out. She has a pale pout, obviously, and an emerald green shawl draped around her shoulders casually.There's just too much stuff happening around the general area of her face, but points for trying, I guess. Her friends are all in the velour jacket genre right now. 'I got my new camera,' she says lazily. The tinys have another seizure of joy. Profile pictures all round, I'm guessing. Amna and the gang gets up to order.
'Where are they getting all this money from!' Miraal is totally scandalized. I'm mesmerized by the sight of a boy sitting alone in a corner, broodily staring at his table. He looks like a young Ali Hamza. I wonder if he will get up in a second and pull a gun out at all of us. Can't trust kids these days.
'Hiiii!' Yep, two boys have walked in to hang with the Tiny Velours. 'Hi Amna,' says the chubby one in a tone that suggests he will like, not eat his burger or something if she doesn't say hi back. It's cool though, the girls are already buying everyone food. Young Ali Hamza is looking over at the kids now, smiling sadly at the enthusiastic ways of youth. I think he hasn't read that sign that says seats are reserved for people who place orders, a warning which Miraal believes is part of all the other Hot Spot mock signs. I think not. I've been snapped at by Mr Counter Man too many times for ordering an unavailable shake flavour. The Hot Spot does not kid around about business.
'Bet he hates his hair,' Miraal says, looking at the other dude surrounded by velour and Amna. He's got curly hair. 'He shouldn't, it looks good, he's cute.' I catch myself. 'I mean, you know, I wouldn't date him, but you know,' Miraal is laughing. 'Shit, am I a cougar?'
Curls is just walking around now completely ignoring all the food that's been bought for him. I don't know about you, but I never say no to a free meal. Also, I'm not a cougar type. Just establishing.
I am so sleepy I wish my sundae had come in a flat bowl instead of a glass so I could just lay my head on the table and eat. Everybody tells you all the useless stuff about growing older, and none of the important things, like you'll find yourself being unable to function on less than 8 hours of sleep. It's always really irrelevant info. 'Your biological clock starts ticking, you should stop thinking you'll find love and just settle down. Okay, mobile Cosmo. Or, 'you should save about 30 percent of your paycheck every month,' or 'you think being married is easy? Babe, I'm telling you, it's not. Don't get married.' Uh, okay. Points one and three usually come from the same source.
The door opens and three guys walk in, the leader of the pack in a leather jacket and carefully arched eyebrows. The Tiny Velours give him a discreet once over. Miraal snorts. We're officially very unhip. Time to take our gray, full of sleep selves home.
A group of tiny girls giggles at a table near us. They're actually really tiny and have to be 10 or something. 'How are parents letting their toddlers out on a weeknight?' I ask Miraal. God, I feel old. If you think your maturity is being taken for granted at home, I suggest you run to The Hot Spot right away and find yourself aging beyond your years. Either that, or a movie at the Atrium. You know how there are all these cranky old ladies at the movies telling you kids to shut the fuck up and sit the hell down? I'm those old ladies.
'O-levels?' she guesses. 'They probably have tuitions in the area.' Suddenly the tiny gigglers have a communal rapture. Someone has just made an entrance. I'm guessing zitty 15-year-old hunk from Math tuition. Nope, it's another chick. 'Amnaaaa!' they all squeal. Jeez girls, calm down. It's just...uh...it's someone very stylish.
Amna has on those huge glasses that make everyone look like my 9th grade Islamiat teacher and her bangs are all pouffed out. She has a pale pout, obviously, and an emerald green shawl draped around her shoulders casually.There's just too much stuff happening around the general area of her face, but points for trying, I guess. Her friends are all in the velour jacket genre right now. 'I got my new camera,' she says lazily. The tinys have another seizure of joy. Profile pictures all round, I'm guessing. Amna and the gang gets up to order.
'Where are they getting all this money from!' Miraal is totally scandalized. I'm mesmerized by the sight of a boy sitting alone in a corner, broodily staring at his table. He looks like a young Ali Hamza. I wonder if he will get up in a second and pull a gun out at all of us. Can't trust kids these days.
'Hiiii!' Yep, two boys have walked in to hang with the Tiny Velours. 'Hi Amna,' says the chubby one in a tone that suggests he will like, not eat his burger or something if she doesn't say hi back. It's cool though, the girls are already buying everyone food. Young Ali Hamza is looking over at the kids now, smiling sadly at the enthusiastic ways of youth. I think he hasn't read that sign that says seats are reserved for people who place orders, a warning which Miraal believes is part of all the other Hot Spot mock signs. I think not. I've been snapped at by Mr Counter Man too many times for ordering an unavailable shake flavour. The Hot Spot does not kid around about business.
'Bet he hates his hair,' Miraal says, looking at the other dude surrounded by velour and Amna. He's got curly hair. 'He shouldn't, it looks good, he's cute.' I catch myself. 'I mean, you know, I wouldn't date him, but you know,' Miraal is laughing. 'Shit, am I a cougar?'
Curls is just walking around now completely ignoring all the food that's been bought for him. I don't know about you, but I never say no to a free meal. Also, I'm not a cougar type. Just establishing.
I am so sleepy I wish my sundae had come in a flat bowl instead of a glass so I could just lay my head on the table and eat. Everybody tells you all the useless stuff about growing older, and none of the important things, like you'll find yourself being unable to function on less than 8 hours of sleep. It's always really irrelevant info. 'Your biological clock starts ticking, you should stop thinking you'll find love and just settle down. Okay, mobile Cosmo. Or, 'you should save about 30 percent of your paycheck every month,' or 'you think being married is easy? Babe, I'm telling you, it's not. Don't get married.' Uh, okay. Points one and three usually come from the same source.
The door opens and three guys walk in, the leader of the pack in a leather jacket and carefully arched eyebrows. The Tiny Velours give him a discreet once over. Miraal snorts. We're officially very unhip. Time to take our gray, full of sleep selves home.
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