Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Moosh Musings

Mysteries of baby T gather momentum with each day that mama T (and her belly) inch closer to delivery. Outwardly and inwardly, we and our loved ones have many questions about our future family addition.

Of course, our paramount concern is for the baby's health and mama's safety. When our thoughts turn less serious, the most common speculation is if we are having a boy or a girl.

Selfishly and perhaps inevitably, I wonder ... what about the baby will be like me? Will my genes give the baby a big forehead and a gap in the front teeth? Will he/she like baseball, memorizing world capitals, and Scrabble?

Or will she/he be more like her mom? Will her genes give the baby pretty, three-ring eyes and curly hair? Will she/he like gymnastics, "So You Think You Can Dance?", and facebook?

Only time will tell.

One tendency that I strongly hope does not pass by my DNA is a phenomenon that I encounter almost daily in my life. It's something that I call "moosh." Perhaps you have experienced it yourself.

For example, you walk into Dunkins for a medium hot regular and have a choice of two lines. One line has 5 people, the other has 2. Naturally, you choose the 2. The customer at the front of your line receives her coffee and leaves the line. Quietly, you chuckle at the 5th person in the other line because you know he'll still be standing there when you leave with your coffee in hand. You wait patiently and suddenly overhear the customer in front of you.

He's reading off of a list written on the back of a pizza box. Still wearing a hard hat and his Carhart overalls, you realize it's the construction rookie with the entire crew's 9 a.m. coffee break order. Frantically, your eyes dart to the other line and it's down to 3. Do I stay or go? You freeze hoping that the cashier is a pro who can bang out 10 coffees in 60 seconds. Peering your head around the carpenter's shoulder, you see a sticker above the cashier's name tag that reads "I'm in training." Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh! She hasn't even started microwaving the croissanwiches yet.

Not only has the 5th customer come and gone in the other line by the time you announce your order in .79 seconds to the new hire, the coffee maker almost definitely requires a filter change, or they're waiting for the manager because the register's out of ones. You've been mooshed.

Line moosh comes in many other forms: stop and go traffic (I always choose the wrong lane), airport security lines (I never see the family with 3 kids ahead of me until it's too late), grocery store lines (especially the self-service checkout - avoid this at all costs!), bank teller lines (I'm sure a hold-up is just around the corner), etc.

As for baby T, I hope for his/her sake that the moosh was a recessive gene that he/she does not inherit. I guess we'll find out when we pick an exit lane at the hospital's parking garage...

2 comments:

Matt said...

It took me 33 years to figure out that it was all genetics. It's not my fault.

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