“And we have scallops,” said the waitress, “they’re slightly breaded and pan-seared in white wine with lemon and capers.”
Joel felt that irresistible tug, that tempting, provocative pull.
“You can’t have ‘slightly breaded’” he told her, “that’s like being a little bit pregnant. They’re either breaded or they’re not.”
Beside him, he felt Lessey sigh. Why does he always do this? he could feel her thinking.
The waitress was giving him the kind of smile that says, Oh, Christ, Another Crank. But he wasn’t going to let this drop. There was too much of it going around, these inexact, imprecise, just plain Wrong locutions.
“So, please, don’t keep telling people the scallops are slightly breaded, just say they’re breaded, okay?”
“If it makes you happy,” said the waitress, and he wondered, belligerently, should he call the manager? Because this was just outright Snippy.
“I won’t be here,” he countered. “But it will make me happy to know you’re at least speaking English the way it was meant to be spoken.”