Don't meddle with us old fellas!
A few years back I used to sub-contract over the winter months welding up new cowsheds being built by local builders.
I was strong enough in those days to be able to pick up my welder from the back of the Falcon and carry it to wherever I needed it on-site.
One particular builder had an obnoxious twenty/twenty-five year old working for him who delighted in baiting me, and how he was my physical superior after he'd seen me do this four or five times.
He just kept at it, asking if I needed help stirring sugar into my coffee, or even needing a helping hand to drink it, all the time calling me 'Pops' or 'Old Fella' and it did rather start to get up my nose and irritate.
One morning smoko (a Kiwi term for morning/afternoon tea,) I'd had enough, so said: "Okay smartarse, I'll wager one hundred bucks I can barrow a pile of shit over to that end of the yard that you won't be able to barrow back."
"You're on!" he replied.
So I went and got a barrow, wheeled it back to the smoko caravan, put it down, turned around to him and said: "Hop in."
(That's a true story. Would I ever tell lies to you?)
:) :) :)