Climax (cli’-max): Generally, the arrangement of words, phrases, or clauses in an order of increasing importance, often in parallel structure.
I was angry. I was outraged. I was ready to go ballistic, somebody had stolen my pin cushion. It looked like a strawberry and it had been in my family for 800 years. Betsy Ross had rented it from my ancestors during the American Revolution when she was sewing the flag. She said it’s strawberry motif worked to motivate her to “keep going” in the face of Ben Franklin’s “incessant” overtures. He was overweight and the creepy glasses he wore repulsed her. She said Tommy Jefferson would’ve been a real catch, but he already had a girlfriend.
Then, we got into the wedding dress business. Great-Great Grandmother “Lippy” used the pincushion when she made wedding dresses for rich people. One dress is especially interesting p. It was for Duchess Binger of the tiny European Duchy of Droppenstain. Duchess Binger was known far and wide for her dishonesty. She had “dishonest” breasts stitched into the dress. Her soon-to-be husband, the Duke of Earl, would be none the wiser. He was blind. She was taking a huge risk. If he touched them he would know—he had touched them when they first met. He knew how big they were. The Duchess had to keep him at bay until the wedding was over. When Grandmother Lippy asked her why she “was ding this,” she said she didn’t know. That was normal for the Duchess. Nobody had ever taken the time to teach her how to make good decisions. People believed that her unlimited wealth would shield her from the consequences of her bad decisions. For example, recently she had salted the manor’s fields, rendering them unsuitable for farming. She believed salting the earth would make food taste better.
But enough of this—where the hell is the pin cushion now?
Holy crap! The dog had gotten ahold of it! It was soaked with saliva and he looked like he had had an altercation with porcupine. My wife sat on him while I pulled out the pins and needles with a pair of pliers. After I got him straightened out I put the pin cushion up on the mantle on a dish towel to dry out.
This was the closest the pin cushion had come to being destroyed. The only other incident I’m aware of was Uncle Zombro’s carrying the pin cushion during the Civil War as a lucky charm. His diary recounts many time how it saved his life. For example, at the battle of Knuckle Ridge, he was juggling the pin cushion, a crumpled piece of paper and a rock. A Rebel sniper who was going to shoot him was so impressed he came down from his tree and asked Zombro to show him how to juggle. Zombro shot him in the head and took his boots, which were in great shape for a Rebel’s boots.
Well, the family heirloom is home! We’ve had it appraised and it is worth $25. That’s not much, but it’s ours. To family it’s worth $25,000,000. It’s packed with history, like a suitcase full of time. When the pin cushion dries out, I’m going to put it in a showcase and insure it for $50.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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