It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.
There is a golden rule in fighting. Hit first and hit hard. One must never pick a fight but when someone tries to slog it out with you, then as a matter of amour propre one needs to be on top of it. I -- for instance -- am a pacifist. It is not the likes of me to start a fight or join issue with someone. Then there are exceptions!
The cab driver was suddenly abusive. He wanted to push ahead perhaps and finding himself lagging behind, started bad-mouthing.
Scene: Crossing. Cab, next to my car. Issue: Next to nothing, the chap was plain calumnious.
Assuming that a bespectacled 20-something guy who does not share Stallone's biceps may be harmless, he loudly uttered some invective. Then another. I got down, went over to his door. Pulled him out and knocked him over. All brashness of the dusty kind -- and the rustic machismo -- came flying out of him. A quick aplology followed. The burly guy added, will behave in future.
I think the punch left a blue spot in his eye and a perfumed sweetness. I usually spray Hugo-Boss on my wrists. I think some of it passed on.
May be, I never get to see him again. But justice of the swiftest kind was served piping hot. Matter finished.
Moral: ne pas oser le désordre avec moi. That is -- Don't dare mess with me -- for those who don't know french.