Mollusks
I
I suppose that sort of thing can happen sometimes. I couldn’t see what I was doing and was using my hands to scrape around for some sort of hold. I finally found the edge, rocked my hands back and forth and managed to heave a glimmering, moss covered boulder out of the stream. The thing was that it had a sharp muscle shell attached to the edge my hand was gripping. I think it bit me. We thought about erecting a dam out of large stones and charging a toll for wayward sunburned adventurers; instead we just skipped pebbles and lifted large rocks above our heads for our women to see.
Hooray for mussel bites and lifting big rocks for women! Once you’re married, you’ll discover that moving furniture can have similar effects.
The only thing about furniture is that it doesn’t make a splash (or appear threatening to timid passerbys). And thanks for correcting my spelling of “mussel.”
Curious juxtaposition of muscle and mussels . . . not sure what to make of it & defining masculinity . . .
go Freudian, Squirrley, it can be fun sometimes.
Lemme see: the aporiatic “muscle” bit me in an act of self-defense because I was touching his “rock.” We were “erecting” a dam. Not to mention the large rocks we lifted all too ape-like, no doubt, as we exhibited our virility and let off built-up adrenaline.
Sounds primitive… Perhaps my textual definition serves to prove that the very definition is false. And by that I mean that if you knew yourself completely you wouldn’t be you.
LoL!
The only place I ever “go Freudian” is in my Freshmen Comp classes so everyone else can have the pleasure of debunking him in Junior Comp!