Old biddies abound. Yesterday in Chinatown, two old Chinese biddies sat in a sunny spot on a stoop on Mulberry Street. In her hand, one held a miniature jar of Tiger Balm out to the other. Today on the F train, roundish, lumpish, two old biddies straight out of Maurice Sendak. One carried a polka-dotted oilcloth bag in blue and white. The other had a Christmas-tree pin on the lapel of her purple coat. This one pronounced the word “bad” like it had two syllables.