Pareuresis (par-yur-ee’-sis): To put forward a convincing excuse. [Shifting the blame.]
“Excuse me, I just remembered I’m supposed to be somewhere else. I have to leave.” I was fearless and I was bored. Grandma was ready to blow out the candles on the cake marking her 82nd birthday. Everybody said they understood as Grandma held her breath a little too long and landed face down in the cake. Somebody called 911 while i called Uber to take me home. I was looking forward to listening to music and playing with my X-Box—the latest “Call of Duty.” I found out a couple of days later that Grandma had a stroke. I sent her some flowers and hoped she’d live a while longer.
Excuses are the soul and substance of my life. Excuses are like apologies. They may mend relationship fractures after you screw up, or before, as a part of hoping to get your way. You give them when you’re accused, or, without being accused, in order to show your social competence, by being conscious of a potential breach of decorum. In most cases you’re searching for forgiveness, not redemption—too late for that. You want to mitigate your guilt. What you’re involved in is “accounting” (See: Scott, M. B., & Lyman, S. M. (2008). Accounts. American Sociological Review, 33, 46-62. https://doi.org/10.2307/2092239).
As you’ve probably guessed, accounts are great for keeping your ‘face’ intact. There are also justifications, they’re for anther day (this is an excuse. Ha Ha).
One day I’m walking along behind a family. I pick Dad’s back pocket and fish out his wallet. I trip on the pavement when it’s about a quarter-inch from being stolen goods. Dad feels it and spins around. “Did you steal my wallet?” He asks clutching my throat. I yell choking, “No sir, HE did, He ducked in that alley!” I point. He takes off to catch the guy and I take off in the opposite direction, wallet hidden in my secret pocket.
The excuse I employed: shifting the blame to guy in the alley. Also, talking to my fellow robbers, I could account for almost getting caught, by “blaming” the crack I tripped on. More shifting the blame. So basically, you have en excuse because you had no intention, or you had no control—buffeted by the winds of fate, or a crack in the pavement.
Remember, if things go wrong, and you’re caught red-handed, you should always have, at a minimum, an excuse ready, and better yet, a justification. Master the art of accounting, and you’ve mastered the art of life.
At least half of life consists of being accused—you’re always late (excuse: “I have a cheap watch, sorry, it’s all I can afford.”), you don’t care about me (excuse: Sorry, I’m not good at showing my emotions”), you spend too much money (excuse: “Sorry, I have a counting disability—numerochosis.”), you’re a slob (excuse: “I’m sorry, but it runs in my family. It’s in our genes.”), you drive like a maniac, (excuse: ”I’m sorry. When I get behind the wheel, I feel like I’m taking my dying mother to the hospital again, like it’s a matter of life or death. Mom died in the hospital parking lot.”), etc.
You can’t admit any accusations are completely true, instead, you must shift the blame. Watch out for accusing the accuser—as a rejoinder “Actually, it’s all your fault bitch” is the road to hell and could even result in your murder, especially if you’re unarmed and your accuser’s holding a knife or a gun.
If you master the excuse, most likely you’ll become known as a lovable boorish teddy bear among eligible life partners, husbands, or wives. Read Scott and Lyman, cited above. They offer a far richer tapestry of accounts than I offer here.
When you screw up, a good excuse will keep you in the game! But if somebody says “There’s no excuse for what you did,” get ready to take a heavy hit.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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