on my way to eccentricity

in my old(er) age, i find myself getting more eccentric. more whimsical. i find it harder to hold my tongue. or is it that i don't want to anymore.

i slid into the booth chair and the seat coverings are torn, patchy and run down. the waitress approaches to take our orders. the first thing i tell her is that the seats are run down and to tell the owner to change it. i have no doubt that what i said to her went in one ear and out the other. nevertheless, i wanted to say it. i had to say it.

he handed me a box of very wet, very black noodles, all soggy and unappetising. this is penang fried kway teow, i asked him. yes, penang fried kway teow is the wet one. the kway teow goreng is the dry one. many people have that mixed up, he replied. no way!! you can't have visited penang! the famous penang char kway teow, by the two sisters, next to the big tree, is the yummiest lightest DRY kway teow ever fried. it's so well-known. 'i'm from butterworth', he claimed. 'the fried kway teow there is wet'. what is this? a racial difference thing? theirs are wet whilst ours are dry? anyway, if you use the phrase penang char kway teow anywhere, everybody knows it's the dry type. 'do you want to change it, miss?', that man finally offered. no, it's ok, i rejected his offer, and continued to argue with him over the authenticity of his 'penang char kway teow'. after another few minutes, he offered again, 'miss, nevermind i'll change it for you, you wait for a few minutes'. he must be very frustrated. and very thirsty. he was desperate for an end. no, it's alright, and again i launched into the difference between the food. even when i don't intend to change the course of actions or the results, i enter into a verbal debate. for what? what possible purpose can it fulfil except as an outlet for my verbal diarrhoea. sometimes it is the principle of the matter.

i'm old, i'm eccentric. perhaps this is the arrogance of the old.