"I won't say it," Myx started.
I knew this was going to be some sort of complaint. We were passing a recreational area, and I, out of the goodness of my heart (OK--I wanted a pic, no matter what Myx would say) stopped to stage this photo.
"Say what?" I'd play along if it meant taking a few seconds off Myx's clock so he let me get this done.
"That I'm gonna fall."
"Didn't you tell me that's some kind of rhetoric--when you mention something by saying you're not going to mention it?" Myx was using his verbal jiu-jitsu on me; I was getting better at noticing it, but not defending myself against it.
"Apophasis," Myx said, "also known as praeteritio and occupatio."
"By any other name would smell as sweet." I knew I was spouting some Shakespeare that had become a cliche--but it was all I had to try and keep up with Myx.
"I guess I should consider myself lucky that you didn't give me a push on this thing before trying to take the pic," Myx said, maybe with some relief.
"Hmmm ...." I considered.
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