Parrhesia (par-rez’-i-a): Either to speak candidly or to ask forgiveness for so speaking. Sometimes considered a vice.
Please forgive me, but your taste is tasteless. I’ve kept my mouth shut for as long as I could. Now that we’re here in Tahoe on our honeymoon, I ‘m gonna tell it like it is. This is the ideal time because our desire to be together is peaking. You’re still wearing your wedding dress, which looks like a scoop of coleslaw garnished by your head. I know you paid thousands for it—one of the biggest wastes of money in the universe. And, my God, your shoes looked like high-heeled locomotives. $400. Crazy! When you modeled your bathing suit, I almost threw up. It looks like a onesie you’d dress a baby in for bed. The only thing missing are the pablum stains down the front. I have no idea what color it is. Purple? Maroon? Brown? Jeez! Burn it! And please don’t wear sweatpants when we go out to dinner—especially the ones with your high school cheerleader logo—“The Leatherstocking Lepers” (“Leapers” spelled wrong—nobody ever caught it? Bizarre!)
Oh wait—the reception’s decorations. Why the hell did each place setting include a sponge and a nutcracker? What’s the message: our marriage is a mess that needs to be sponged up, and you’re going to crack my nuts? This kind of obscure symbolism is for Tarot card readers, not for newly married husbands and wives! Also, the wedding cake was rectangular 12”x 8” and 2” high. The icing tasted like soap suds. The pieces were the size of dice. It was awful. What we’re you thinking?
Now that we’re married, you are moving into my condo. It overlooks San Francisco Bay and I’ve lived there on my own for five years. You say you want to redecorate. I say “No!” If I turn you loose to make changes in the decor, I’ll probably have a seizure when I come home from work and look at it every evening. Besides, my sports decor suits me perfectly. Life-sized cutouts of the Giants’ lineup! Autographed gloves hanging on the wall. Swivel catcher’s mitt chairs in the living room. Dugout bench for a couch. Willie Mays tableware. Batter’s Box bed with matching home plate pillows. There’s more honey, but I can’t see why you would want to change it—even a tiny little bit. I even got you a pair of flannel Giants pj’s so you’ll fit right in—you and me in the dugout!
So, first thing when we get home, let’s get your looney hairdo revamped. It’s like you have a flying saucer on your head. I expect Martians to crawl out of your ears. Ha ha! You should get your hair done like my mother’s. Even though she has to use orange juice cans as curlers, it is so lovely when it is done. I think she calls it a “bouffant.”
Well, I could say a lot more about your poor taste, but I think I’ve said enough. Why are you packing? We don’t leave until Wednesday. Oh, I know—you’re gonna throw that stuff in a dumpster!
She hit him over the head with her suitcase, knocking him unconscious. She dug his wallet out of his back pocket while he lay there. She Googled “annulment” on her smart phone as she rode the elevator down to the hotel lobby.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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