I woke up cranky today. I don't know why. Yesterday was a fine day (it's finally spring!) and yesterday evening was a fine evening.

I went for supper with my excellent friends Alef Alef and Stressed-Out Doctoral Thesis-Writing Constitutional Lawyer at a Punjabi restaurant in the Annex. The food was little more than mediocre but I liked the feel of the restaurant so I'll more than likely go back. We were amused when, in the middle of a conversation about composting (*sigh* aging lefties have the zaniest conversations), the super hot, smiley waiter broke in with a rambling lecture on Sikh dietary laws. It took us a little while to realize that he'd heard only the last little bit of my sentence, "basically anything organic but meat", formed his own interpretation of our conversation, and decided to share. Until we'd figured out what had caused the lecture it was a little surreal for us, but it was interesting to get more than mere food at the restaurant. And I think I mentioned I thought the waiter was hot, as well.

So Alef Alef, ever the good friend interested in Snobby's happiness and well-being, announced that he was of the opinion that the mini cultural seminar was directed mainly at me, in his opinion, and that this was because Super Sexy Waiter wanted to get to know me in all the various senses of the word. I pointed out that maybe it was directed at me because I was the only one who didn't look bewildered at the non-sequitur and was actually attempting to engage him in conversation because he, I mean what he was saying, was interesting. Besides, I continued, Stressed-Out Doctoral Thesis-Writing Constitutional Lawyer was most likely more his type than I. Too bad for him her girlfriend would object.

Then I invited us all back to Alef Alef's place for tea and cookies (Super Sexy Waiter couldn't come). Tea and cookies? Composting? What has happened to me?!

So, after all that I don't understand why I'm so cranky today. The caffeine is just making things worse. Now I'm cranky and jumpy. I'm beginning to get a glimpse of what kind of old man I'm going to be. I will have a cane and I will shake it at people. I will remove my dentures in public places just to disgust people. I will yell at teenagers to turn down that damn racket ferchrissake. I will call sales people "whippersnapper". I will write fifteen letters to the editor a day (as opposed to the fifteen a month I write now) bemoaning the misuse of the semicolon, the invention of such words as "agendize", or the use of "trend" and "transition" as verbs (which I admit to hating even at the tender age of late early thirties). I will be a lot of fun.

But anyways, I should try to snap out of it since I'm spending the afternoon shopping for DVD players with Urbaniteur-Franco-Ontarien (for him, not for me; I am poor'n'unemployed) and then supper with The British Diplomat somewhere cheap in Little Italy. Must find Snobby Charm. Maybe it's at the bottom of my coffee cup.