Kategoria

Kategoria (ka-te-go’-ri-a): Opening the secret wickedness of one’s adversary before his [or her] face.

I thought I knew you. I knew what you liked to wear: Chanel. I knew what you liked to drink: Dom Perignon. I knew what you liked to eat: Porterhouse Steak with Truffle Butter. I knew what you liked to drive: a Mercedes Maybach. I knew your favorite place to live: Paris. I knew your favorite book: “Atlas Shrugged.” I knew your favorite movie: “Nightmare on Elm Street.”

I could go on for ten pages of “what you like.” But you already know what you like—it’s no mystery to you. But after scanning the ensemble of things and preferences, I realized too late that I don’t know you! I thought I married you. I thought I fell in love with you. I thought I lived with you.

I’ve been watching you and spying on you since you came back from the grocery store with your skirt on backward. I asked you how it happened and you told me it was “the wind” in the parking lot, that your chauffeur Brino had to cart you to the car and lay you down on the seat, where your skirt probably got turned around. You credited Brino with saving your life. But we both know there was no wind. We both know you’re lying.

Then you stayed out all night. You told me you were running in a marathon and got lost. Your phone went dead and you were panic- stricken, afraid you may be assaulted or mauled by one of the viscous dogs that lives by the beach. Once again, you credited Brino with saving you and taking you to his mother’s home for the night. But we both know there was no marathon. We both know there’s no “Brino’s mother.” We both know you’re lying. Then there’s my gold Rolex that disappeared. The next day, I noticed that Brino was wearing a gold Rolex. You told me he had gotten it for his birthday from his brother. But we both know there was no birthday or brother. We both know you’re lying.

I said, “Now I think I know you: You’re a cheater and a liar.” At this point my wife started crying. She sobbed: “I’m no good. I’m rotten. I stink.” I said, “Ok. I’ll add that to cheater and liar, and I’ll have a really good idea of who you are.”

I anguished all night. For some bizarre reason I couldn’t live without her. It was like I had reconciled myself to taking a small dose of poison every day. First thing the next morning, I met with an “associate” of mine from Palermo and hired him to do a hit on Brino. That would solve the cheating problem; maybe the lying problem too. I resolved that our next chauffeur would be a young blonde woman with an open heart.

But alas. Brino got wind of my plan and stole the Mercedes and a cooler full of Porterhouse steaks. My traitorous wife went with him. I told my associate from Palermo, if he could bag them both, he could keep the car and the steaks for himself.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu). Bracketed text added by Gorgias.

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