Bdelygmia (del-ig’-mi-a): Expressing hatred and abhorrence of a person, word, or deed.
I hate myself and everybody like me. I can’t help myself. I can’t resist. No matter how many times I risk bent caught, I go back. If am a certified nutcase. I beg my brain to stop me, but it won’t. It has a mind of its own.
What’s my problem? I like to squeeze women’s butt cheeks in public places—malls, nightclubs, places of worship, schools, etc.
My Uncle Ernie got me started grabbing. One day we were walking through the mall. He went up close behind a woman and grabbed her but with two hands. He had this wild look on his face—his eyes were bulging and he had a smile on his face like he was intoxicated. As soon as he made his grab, he stopped and turned around and pretended he was checking his cellphone. The woman would look around and sometimes ask him if he saw anybody come up behind her. Uncle Ernie would answer “No” and ask if he could be of assistance.
I thought grabbing was so cool that I took it up—I became addicted. I grabbed hundreds of butts and never got caught. Then, everything changed.
I came up behind an elderly woman one day and grabbed her butt. Before I could make my getaway, she looked over her shoulder and said “That was nice.” Here face turned from that of a 60-year old woman to that of a 25-26-year old woman. Then, it immediately turned back to a 60-year old face. She invited me to come to her home once a week and give her grab. All I had to do in return was mow her lawn and water her garden. I agreed with her proposal. We built a “mall walk” in her basement. She would walk past me and I would follow, squeeze her butt and then do my turn-around evasion routine. I spent some of the best days of my life in that basement making grabs.
Then one day she invited me over midweek for a special grab. The basement was lit by candles and the air was perfumed by jasmine incense. She came walking by and her pants were pulled down, exposing her naked butt. This was the holy grail—she put on her young face and said “Grab it hard.” I did. But my hands sank into her butt as if it was peanut butter. I could feel something chewing lightly on my fingertips. No matter what I did, I couldn’t pull out my hands. She was eating me with her butt. It wouldn’t be long and I’d be dead. Just then, the basement door crashed open. It was Bill Whilk, my dad’s Vietnam War buddy.
He said, “Mary Lee, stop right now. You’re about to eat Willis Yodel’s son Wendell!” I felt the grip loosen. Mary Lee kept on her young face. Even though she had tried to eat me, I was smitten.
I learned she was one of very few mutants who had grown up in close proximity to the oil refineries in Linden, NJ. It had never been documented so nobody knows how many hand-eating grabbers exist. None have ever been captured and most people think they are fictional.
So, that does not keep me from hating myself. I would much prefer living a normal life. I hate the fact that I married Mary Lee. I’ve become her grabber pimp. I can’t rat her out. I’d be ratting myself out. End of story.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.
The Daily Trope 