Enallage

Enallage (e-nal’-la-ge): The substitution of grammatically different but semantically equivalent constructions.

I was carded. The ID said I was 45, but I was only 19. Those were the days! No photo IDs. As a 45-year-old I could pretty much go anywhere I wanted to, and I done what I wanted to do where age was a factor. As long as I had the ID in my hand, I was good to go. But I discovered, aside from driving, drinking gin, buying naughty magazines and owning a gun, the stretch between 21 and 45 didn’t have a lot of extra permissions. I paid $50.00 for my fake ID, so I was a little disappointed—until I discovered “Club 45.” It was for men “45 and over.”

I thought this place was going to be wild. I showed my ID at the door, paid my $10,00 initiation fee, and was motioned in. I looked. There were men sitting in bathrobes, reading newspapers and sipping orange juice. Some men had little tables where they were assembling plastic model boats and airplanes. I thought maybe that they were sniffing glue. They weren’t.

I was given a bathrobe and a newspaper and shown to “my” chair. I hadn’t read a newspaper in years. I took a sip from my orange juice and started reading the front page. It was shocking. Toy drones had been turned into weapons of war. I used my drone to video my neighbor’s wife in their hot tub. For the hell of it, I turned to the want ads. The first one I looked at said: “Wanted: A man. Must be energetic and like to experiment.” I thought: “I am energetic—I’m on the track team. I like to experiment: I just got a chemistry set for my birthday!” I was in!

I took the paper and left the club. There was a pay phone across the street. I called the number from the ad and a woman answered after one ring. I told her I was energetic and liked to experiment. She said “You’re just what I’m lookin’ for honey.” She gave me her address. Nobody had ever called me “honey” before. I had only heard it in movies or radio shows.

I walked to the house in about 5 minutes. Actually, I ran. I rang the doorbell. The door opened and there was my friend Eddy’s grandmother in a pink bathrobe and slippers. She slammed the door and yelled “Go away you little pervert!”

I was really disappointed. I didn’t know what we were going to do—but I thought it was along the lines of exercising together and doing some experiments. 2 days later it was Eddy’s birthday. Right after we sang happy birthday and Eddy blew out the candles, his grandmother showed up. We made eye contact and she blushed. She had a man with her. He was overweight and probably 45-50. I asked her if he was energetic and liked to experiment.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

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