Charientismus (kar-i-en-tia’-mus): Mollifying harsh words by answering them with a smooth and appeasing mock.
She: Can you please stop acting like a total idiot when we’re hanging out with my friends?
He: I’m just trying to fit in. Ha, ha. Just kidding. But, let’s face it there’s something about your friends that’s a little off,
She: I know. None of us ever got over our high school crush on Travis. He dated us. He went steady with us. He dId other things with us. He broke up with us, and, when he graduated, he went to live with our English teacher Ms. Tushski. They live in town and he’s tried unsuccessfully to rekindle romance with all of us. He’s an egotistical maniac who’s stuck in his glory days as a high school stud.
He: This is what I mean—the idiotic endless recounting of the “Travis Story”—a story that’ll never have a happy ending. Just because I try to change the subject, I’m an idiot.
She: But what can I do? He’s not going anywhere and I see that Ms. Tushski is pregnant. No doubt, the child is his.
Me: Maybe this will work: You get to know him as a friend. We can invite him and Ms. Tushski over to dinner and get to know them socially. We can have your special quiche and a couple glasses of wine. They can bring dessert.
TWO DAYS LATER
She: There’s the doorbell. I’ll get it, Hi Travis, welcome to our home.
Travis: You remember Ms. Tushski. We’re married and have baby on the way. We can’t stay too late. I have to get home to soak my hemorrhoids by nine o’clock.
He: That’s too bad Travis, but we understand.
Travis: Yeah if I don’t soak ‘em by nine, they itch like crazy—I smear on cortisone and shove a suppository up there, but if I don’t soak, they don’t work, and I’ll be draggin’ my butt around on the living room carpet.
She: Oh, well. We all get older. Is there anything else?
Travis: Nah, just some bowel control issues. I’ve got it covered with Depends—the same brand Trump uses.
She: Oh. That must be a bother—especially if you need a change when you’re out and about.
He: Well. Ms. Tushski, when’s the baby due?
Ms. Tushski: I don’t know. I love the suspense. It’s like a good story. Do you remember “Buck Rogers and the Martian Pyromaniac?” That’s the feeling I get every time I look down at my bloated belly.
POSTSCRIPT
They finished dinner.
In silence, they ate the strawberry jello that Ms. Tushski and Travis had brought After the jello,, the two of them left in a cab.
He and She looked at each other. Simultaneously, they both said “Poor Ms. Tushski” and laughed.
That was the end of that.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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 