Bearing the Scars

About a week ago I went to a restaurant called Hotpot with my colleagues. They are a buffet style restaurant that serves sushi as well as hot food. You get a 'hotpot' on your table and you can cook your own food.

As I was trying to pull a piece of pork out of my pot with my chopsticks, it slipped out of my grasp and, as luck would have it, landed on my thigh (I was wearing shorts) before falling to the floor.

Not missing a beat, within 2 minutes the waitress appeared at my side with a fork and a spoon. The assumption had been made that I am farang and therefore must not be able to use chopsticks.

Needless to say my leg was not the only thing that smarted after that. And being the stubborn person that I am, with pride sufficiently stung, I obstinately refused to use the utensils so condescendingly offered.
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