Mmmmm, Hommus
I drove down to Ann Arbor this morning and had lunch with the Sardine at Jerusalem Garden. Our waitress had a mustache, or at least she had more hair between her upper lip and nose than do most women and non-mustachioed men. After she had taken our order, Sardine remarked that she was cute; I replied, "Nah, she has a mustache." The Sardine then chastised me for being mean. How does that work? The waitress had a mustache! Sardine didn't deny that the waitress had a mustache; so, what exactly did I do that was mean? I didn't call her Mustache Girl to her face, I merely remarked, in response to the Sardine's appraisal of the waitress's physical appearance, that she had a mustache. I called a spade a spade. If someone called me fat I wouldn't accuss them of being mean, I'd say that they have a masterful command of the obvious. I am fat. Our waitress at Jerusalem Garden had a mustache. When did speaking the truth about someone become mean?

Also, I really have to commend the Michigan Department of Transportation for their fine efforts at rendering US-23 completely impassable between Flint and Ann Arbor. Well done!