Epimone

Epimone (e-pi’-mo-nee): Persistent repetition of the same plea in much the same words.

“Give me another chance. Please! Once more! Only once!” I was begging. If I didn’t do five push-ups my father wouldn’t let me drive the family car. I was almost 18 and was ready to get behind the wheel. But, I could only do four-and-a-half push-ups. I had injured my shoulder playing football ball and it did not work right any more—it made a grinding sound when I flapped my arm like a wing.

Verna Bangwink had a car. She was 18 and I was pretty sure she liked me. She had a red Corvette and she claimed that Prince had written “Little Red Corvette” for her after they had taken a “ride.” I called Verna and asked her if I could drive her car. She said “It’s Saturday night, and that makes it all right.” We agreed to meet in the K-Mart parking lot.

The parking lot was pretty much empty. She came roaring at me and pulled the emergency brake. The car spun in a circle and came to stop. She stepped out wearing white go-go boots and a skin tight red dress that matched the color of the Corvette. She said, “Come on little guy, let’s practice.”

We got into the car. I was in the driver’s seat. The car was in Park, with the engine running. I put it into “D” and pressed the gas. We took off like a bat out of hell—tires billowing smoke. Verna yelled “Stop” and we switched positions in the car. We didn’t talk for an hour. I asked her where we were going. She said “Vegas.” All I knew about Las Vegas was in the Elvis Presley song—it sounded like a pretty wild place. Verna wanted to be a blackjack dealer. I felt like I was being kidnapped, but I didn’t care. Verna was so cool.

I think we made record time from Summit, New Jersey to Las Vegas, Nevada. I had turned 18 that morning, so maybe I could get a job. Verna got a job at one of the casinos and they sent her to blackjack school. I looked and looked and landed a job a Clark County Library. I shelved books five days per week.

Verna and I rented an apartment and talked about getting married. There were so many options! I liked the one where you rode an elephant down the aisle. I called my dad and he told me he would kill me if I didn’t come home. I didn’t go home. He didn’t kill me.

Now, Verna was pregnant. Jubilation ensued! We have a lovely little girl. I’ve been promoted to “due date stamper” at the library and Verna is one of the most successful dealers at the casino. The other night we had dinner with Cher and 400 of her friends.

Our families are coming to Las Vegas for Thanksgiving. We think it will be a total disaster, but family’s family. Oh, we still have the Corvette, but just bought a Subaru Forrester.

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

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