Several Thai boys from a karaoke shop down the way like to take me on, to see if they can pit their small, muscly arms against mine.
They are farm boys from Esan, and get to exert their arm strength regularly, whenever they go home to help the family at cropping time.
Despite being a foreigner, with naturally big arms compared to theirs, I am nonetheless a mere city dweller.
My arms do not get a regular work out, other than to raise a glass to my lips - though typing is also a form of physical exertion, as I notice my arms are tense most of the time when I am tapping on the keyboard.
The boys at the karaoke shop are cute. Aged in their early 20s, they walk the 50m down to Mum's shop to buy liquor for customers, if they run out at their own shop. When they pass, they put an arm around my shoulders, or sit with me briefly for a chat while Mum gets their order.
One of their number is older, in his 30s, and eager to prove his prowess at wrestling with the farang. The last time I competed with him was on New Year's Eve. I strained my muscles as I tried to force his arm down on to the table, and the pain in my right arm which resulted is still with me.
In the immediate days afterwards, I could hardly raise my arm above my head (it was barely 'mobile,' as physiotherapists like to say). It is now better than it was, though still stiff and sore.
The same guy, who works as a motorcycle taxi driver, returned the other night. He sat at Mum's shop, and raised his right arm on the counter, preparing to do battle with the stubborn farang who insists on winning every time he takes him on.
I declined. Then he threw a B100 note on the bartop, to make the bout more appealing.
'I'll wager you B100 baht that I win,' he said.
'I can't do it. I have hurt my arm,' I said.
He looked at me.
'I'm too old now, so I shall have to retire. Take it as your victory,' he said.
He walked away happy, having won in the end.
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