Although his lips are pursed and his eyes are narrowed and he wears an expression like a disapproving high-class grandmother from the eighteen hundreds, he's still hot? What the hell. So Agatha leans back on the stupid creaky plastic chair and smiles a stupid fake smile and asks this stupid guy with his stupid blonde curls that he probably dyes why he's being a dick. Okay, she didn't actually say that. (tedros and agatha are feuding soccer moms whose kids are, unfortunately, friends.)