Decaying stumps, logs, and rotten leaves. No, not an alternative life-style, but a home that a slime mold can love. Which I should have interjected into the conversation next to me, but I'm afraid my Mandarin just isn't good enough to stand even a chance of shutting the mainland mother haranguing her adult son over his many failings down. 绒泡黏菌属 (Physarum) as catalogued by Persoon in 1794, among the 變形蟲門 (amoebozoa).
Oh I say, old lady have you considered shoving your head into some rotten leaves? 哦，我說，老太太，你有沒有想過把你的頭埋進一些爛樹葉裡？(Ó, wǒ shuō, lǎo tàitài, nǐ yǒu méiyǒu xiǎngguò bǎ nǐ de tóu mái jìn yīxiē làn shùyè lǐ?)
Some mothers are parasites.
Some are poison.
But not my business. It's up to her patient college educated son to tell her where to get off.
I shall merely hope, fervently, that mildew eventually eats her brain.
Chinese family relationships are sometimes berserk.
Codependency enabling and toxic.
Surprisingly, the bus driver didn't holler back at her to shut the F up and stop being a bloody nuisance to the other passengers. On those crowded busrides back to the city I will still make space for passengers rather than keeping my bag on the seat. And I'll continue to pretend that I am both unable to understand a word if I have plausible deniability, and not at all bothered by some old bag ranting like a rabid dog at her relatives.
I shall be glad when the tourist season dies down.
Less chance of harpies.
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