Warm Breeze From the West

In accordance with the rigidly enforced aforementioned study regime, I, for a hour and a half, had fun. Given their recent 1500-mile homecoming to the Lone Star State, the Colonel & his missus, expect equally grand, life-changing 100-mile homecomings from their son...who's in medical school...about to take his Step 1 exams. Given the absurdity of such a point-deducting notion, I invited them down for lunch. I relatedly warned my continually Step-1 manic roommate that, given their sense of hospitality and concern that we were getting all unibomber, that they would probably not accept the following responses: "I would but...," "No," and "Blah blah blah...gotta study....blah blah blah."

An uneasy "Really?" was uttered from under a study lamp and various jargon filled books.

"Yes really," returned with a cadence that implied that all would not be lost, assuredly.

As I jetted around the corner, a softly strained "Hey, Cecil?"

On my quick return, Kevin inquires, "Seriously?"

"Yeah, they probably won't take no for an answer." I half-way turned for my exit to a comfortable night's slumber.

"Hey..."

With a quickness that betrayed my fatigue I replied in a manner reserved for auctioneers and off camera politicians. With glazed, drowsy eyes and smirk, I briskly replied, "If you don't have another question, I'm going to be pissed...Seriously."

The next day, mom, dad, Kevin, and I were off to lunch.

With absolute deference, I asked my father in regards to a pleasant Saturday luncheon , "Do you have any preferences?" My father replied with widened eyes, a playfully sardonic smile, and a tense brow befitting the potential argument his countenance implied.

We weren't going to Luby's. I hate Luby's. Alot.

Given the criteria of "good food, and nothing fancy," we fancied ourselves some Indian food from Bombay Brasserie. The food was as enjoyable as the company. It is unfortunate that the most I've had this week was with my parents, but in the same breath it was...delightful.

Conversation swirled around my mother's grudgingly newfound necessity for social pleasantries here in Texas, my father's ranch efforts toward wildlife management read as tax break, and of course the tireless travails of these two future physicians. Arms flailing over lassis and naan, talks about the world outside the Texas Medical Center was most welcome. Needed even. Thank goodness for warm breezes from the west. Now, hopefully I may survive these next three weeks.