MY ENGLISH NOT GOOD

That, at least, was the impression I got speaking with her. She repeated the information several times. While also mentioning skin ointment (mimed scratching her arm lest I not comprehend), Walgreens versus Trader Joe's, and several other things. The conversation had started while I was shaving -- so I was wearing a wet bathrobe -- and continued much too long given that I was wet and away from the heated chamber where I do my ablutionary things. And I blame my apartment mate for this, because she had given the old lady a gift card to be used for groceries. But apparently there had been miscommunication because "my English not good". So she was asking me to endeavor further communication.

As I am facile in that regard. Good Dutch, English, Cantonese, and Indonesian.

I promised I would discuss the matter with my apartment mate, but couldn't guarantee anything. And fiercely restrained myself from adding "my English not good".
Which it sometimes isn't. Being occasionally quite evil.


Ma'am, I'm wet and kind of cold right now, and both warmth and soap call me. They beckon.
I must forthwith obey their command. It supplants whatever imperative you wish to lay upon me by scratching your ancient crepey Asian derma and mumbling.
Fifteen minutes of talky-talky. I am not that social.
I am a grouchy damp Dutchman, I am.

Two hours later, fully shaved and showered, and having rubbed some lotion on dry skin areas (which I suspect many people past forty or fifty years old do --their own skin, not mine) and girded my loins I went down to Chinatown for some claypot rice (煲仔飯 'pou jai faan') with Chinese sausage (臘腸 'laap cheung'), preserved meats (臘肉 'laap yiuk') chicken (雞 'kai') and black mushrooms (冬菇 'tong gu'). Late-ish lunch or very early dinner.

After finishing my tea and paying my bill I was outside lighting up my pipe. It had gotten colder by then. Fortunately I was wearing more than just a damp bathrobe.
Because that is what one does when going out to eat.

I'm still smacking my lips over the crusty layer.
Mmmm, nom nom nom. My goodness.



AFTERWORD: Got to observe elderly Cantonese in their native habitat happily chowing down on delicious eaties while chatting. Some of them are deaf as posts, and might need everything repeated at increasing levels of loudness, a few don't bother actually listening, they're just happy to be there accidentally knocking over their walking sticks leaning against the furniture, which clatters loudly and might startle a nearby Dutchman eating lunch.
I'm just saying, you probably didn't even notice that, did you?
Doven oude kwartel.



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