Thanks, Driver!: Redux

In an almost grotesque parody of my encounters with local bus drivers, I found myself aboard a bus one day where this garishly made-up Chinese lady matron (who couldn't be a day younger than sixty) had requested the driver let her and her thirty-something year-old daughter know where they should alight.

This particular driver (who couldn't be a day older than forty), unlike the vacuous and monotonous bus number 7 driver only I could and would come across, was not only obliging, he let the mother-daughter pair off at the right stop too.

And, because the couldn't-be-a-day-younger-than-sixty matron was so pleased with the couldn't-be-a-day-older-than-forty driver, as she alighted, with a bright crimson-lipsticked smile she trilled in what must pass for girlishly for a woman of her age: "Xie4 xie4, da4 ge1!" (Literally, "thank you, big brother".)

Loudly, and more than once, at that.

Then, she giggled.

I spent the rest of my journey biting my lip to keep from bursting into hysterical chortles, and coaxing my goosebumps to fade and the hair on my nape to relax.