I was reminded today that there is a group of men of which I am not (nor never will be) part of their tribe.
These are the men that are sturdy of form. They that can lift large pieces of furniture over their heads and carry giant sleeper sofas for miles in the desert. These are men that are of Norwegian shipbuilding descent, for they have forearms of steel and backs of leather. Not like us writer-men who have middles of flubber and wrists as skinny as a No. 2 pencil.
No these are the men who move furniture. They are the men who have taken eighth grade geometry (the class where we all sat in the back and said snottily, "when will we ever use this in real life? Huff...) and given it legs. As in furniture legs that have to be wriggled through a gap that seems to small, yet the furniture miracle men are able to look at the situation, apply the Pythagorean theorem through the filter of experience (and busted out door frames) and say "yes, we can make it work. we'll just have to lift and rotate exactly 47.5 degrees towards the solar eclipse." And it works, by gosh, it works.
And while they humored me today, and said "sure, you can carry that box...full of towels..." deep inside they knew that I was just a wanna-be, I did not have what it took to be a real furniture moving man.