Pareuresis (par-yur-ee’-sis): To put forward a convincing excuse. [Shifting the blame.]
I had gotten in the habit of saying “My ass” if I didn’t believe something that somebody said. For example: my wife said she was at the grocery store and I said “My ass” because she had been gone overnight. She told me she did it for me—that she slept in the parking lot when she heard they were getting a shipment of coconuts, and she knows how much I love them, so she camped out knowing they would out for sale when the grocery store opened in the morning—coconuts were tremendously popular in our small northeastern town. But, the coconut shipment story was untrue—unfounded rumor. There were no coconuts when she awoke. She was “deeply disappointed.”
I almost started crying when she told me her story, all night sleeping in the car! The dismay she must’ve felt—the anger, the frustration. Poor Hunny Bunny! I could hear my 15-year-old daughter laughing in the kitchen. I couldn’t figure out what was so funny, so I asked her. Her answer was “You!” meaning me. I had no idea what she was talking about. For some reason, I was her favorite joke. Anyway, I asked my wife out to dinner as a sort of reward for what she endured (there was more laughter from the kitchen). My wife said: “Oh honey. I’m so, so sorry. My vegetarian action group is holding an all-night vigil at MacDonald’s, picketing in the parking lot, handing out brochures and playing recordings of cows being slaughtered.” Wow! My wife was amazing. Too bad I was going to be working on my stamp collection and playing Rummy with our daughter. A big night!
I woke up around 2:00 am worried about my wife. She was so brave. I decided to take a drive down to MacDonalds. I woke up my daughter and told her what I was doing. She laughed.
When I got to MacDonalds it was closed and the parking lot was empty. I panicked and considered calling the police. But then, I figured I could wait until morning. My wife always had a good reason, especially for her overnight absences. I would wait until morning and if she didn’t come home, I would call the police. She came home around nine. She looked like she had just taken a shower—her hair was wet. So, I asked her where she was all night. As she started to tell me, my daughter giggled. My wife told me: “At the last minute we decided to go to Burger King. We targeted the Cheese Whopper with our chanting ‘I’ll have a Whopper in the garbage hopper.’” I was impressed. I asked her where she took a shower. She told me her old high school friend Rod ‘Ramrod’ Carbinski had graciously offered her shower, and a place to take a nap before she came home. My daughter was laughing again. But now I could see why. There was a pattern emerging that I could not deny: my wife was competing with me for the neighborhood’s “Top Notch Parent Award.” From her all-night coconut gambit showing our daughter how to love her man, to the social conscience displayed by the vegetarian protest. And also, the sacrifice of staying out all night, sacrificing time with her family to display her love and commitment to making the world a better place.
There was a knock on the door. It was Rod. He told me he was here to pick up my wife, that she was leaving me and “running off to chase our dreams.” My wife came down the stairs toting our big world travel suitcase. My daughter shot her with the handgun I’d left on the kitchen counter after I had blown a squirrel off the bird feeder. I called 911 and told them there had been a shooting. Then, I called Denise: “It finally happened—daughter off to prison no need for a divorce. I’ll explain later.” Rod was blubbering under the kitchen table.
My daughter was laughing.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu). Bracketed text added by Gorgias.
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