Correctio (cor-rec’-ti-o): The amending of a term or phrase just employed; or, a further specifying of meaning, especially by indicating what something is not (which may occur either before or after the term or phrase used). A kind of redefinition, often employed as a parenthesis (an interruption) or as a climax.
Him: Let’s get this straight before we get married (not after) and take it as seriously as humanly possible: your crazy mother will be unwelcome in our home. Her looney ideas are dangerous. Even if you don’t think so, her constant references to love, peace and happiness belong at Woodstock (where she spent “three days of peace and love” back in the sixties), or at a Buddhist commune sitting in a weird position on the stone floor, eating cold rice, chanting, and drinking water. There’s no place for any of this in our lives. Not in our living room or at our dinner table. She keeps trying to make us into Hippie vegetarian renegades—turning our backs on our heritage. Don’t forget, I am an officer in a Militia—Paul Revere’s Night Reapers. We stand for everything right! Intimidation of Minorities! Injustice! Eating meat! Smoking cigarettes, and more!
In addition to everything else, your mother’s wealth is also a corrupting influence. She’s got so much money she can’t count that high. Her hobby seems to be to try to persuade us out of our well considered beliefs—beliefs that are distinctly Conservative and project our absolute right to stand up for the Right and it’s well-considered rejection of tax-payer funded social programs and its regard for the marginalization of educational funding and censorship. We believe in increasing military spending and building more jails. We believe that illegal immigrants should be put to work on chain gangs. We also believe the Christian faith should become the official religion of the United States. Your mother just wants to sing “Puff the Magic Dragon” and love everybody—to condemn our basic beliefs and will probably try to turn our kids into bomb-throwing Commie dupes. We don’t want that, honey.
And last, the way your mother dresses (no matter where she’s going) is totally inappropriate. Although she’s a billionaire, she shops at the Salvation Army Thrift Store. When she goes out, her clothing choices look like a puzzle where somebody pushed pieces together that don’t fit. Like, the other day she was wearing a tiger print blouse, a turquoise square dance skirt, yellow tights with a carpenter ant pattern, and fluorescent orange running shoes. It’s like she’s trying get people to make fun her in some sort of masochistic quest.
So honey, I hope you can see what a lost soul your mother is, and how far off the tracks she’s strayed. We need to figure out how to keep hew away and still have access to her wealth—a real challenge. What do you think?
Her: I can’t believe I ever agreed to marry you. It’s like you concealed your beliefs until you thought I was at the point of no return. Well, I’m not—what I am, is shocked and angry beyond belief.
I think what you just said about money sums it up. You must’ve forgotten that she is my mother. She raised me. She loves me. She has a beautiful soul. And what gives you the right to espouse your crackpot and cruel ideas as if I share them? I can’t believe I ever wanted to marry you, you pompous closed-minded ass. Mom used to sing me to sleep every night with “Puff the Magic Dragon.” I love that song.
So, after your stupid monologue, I’m done with you. There will be no wedding—you are banned from my life you worthless twerp. Please leave.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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