One disadvantage of carrying a walking stick is that it advertises too clearly that I have a bum leg. Which makes people make exceptions for me, despite my protestations that I'm fine, standing is okay, no I'm not a cripple, please don't stand. I'm fine, okay? Just dandy!
The stick, you must understand, serves me primarily as a social distancing tool.
Secondarily as a gesticulationary device, self-defensively.
Tertiarily as an aid to locomotion.
Now go away or I'll swing wildly at you while screaming.
Surely you don't want grumpy Uncle to have a fit?
A Cantonese woman on the bus kept insisting that I sit down. See, there's a seat! With equal stubbornness, I maintained that there was no need. Standing was just fine. I'm comfortable wedged in the corner. There is no reason to be so considerate.
What I didn't mention is that I still have all my faculties and just sheer buckets of energy and endurance. The damned leg is only a problem if I walk. And I think it's slowly getting better. Because I'm using it, instead of sitting down like a vegetable all the time.
I am not a cabbage.
你肯定唔想脾氣暴躁嘅叔叔發爛氣勢?
['nei hangding m-seung peihei pouchou ge suk-suk faat lan heisai']
Sometimes I feel like the old geezer in Monty Python And The Holy Grail who has to repeatedly holler that he isn't dead yet, go away, he doesn't want to go on the cart with the other corpses.
我重未死!
['ngo chung mei sei']
And no singing!
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