Hypozeuxis

Hypozeuxis (hyp-o-zook’-sis): Opposite of zeugma. Every clause has its own verb.

I went to the store. I walked through the door. I headed for aisle five. I picked up a loaf of bread. Then, I felt the dread—the roiling, boiling, swirling dread. It was induced by the bread—by the screaming white bread displaying its burly crust and biting my hand. I threw the bread to the floor. It’s wrapper split. Things had gotten really dangerous. Now that the bread had broken free due to my panicked hurling, slice by slice it would terrorize the grocery store. Already, I could feel the panic sweeping through aisle five. I could hear the jars of peanut butter and jelly rattling in aisle six—shivering with fear.

But then, things stood still for a couple of seconds while I tried to understand the reaction of the peanut butter and jelly. They had a strong partnership with bread. The sandwiches they made together were renowned throughout the Western Hemisphere. My first sandwich was a PBJ: crunchy peanut butter and grape jelly. It was exquisite. What happened?

I couldn’t get my head around it. It wasn’t working. My therapist was standing by me. She had accompanied me to the grocery to directly observe my reaction to bread. She told me: “As far as I can see, you should probably check yourself into ‘Barking Cardigan,’ plug in, bite the rubber ball, and have your mind swept clean. Then, you can have lobotomy or get on some powerful mood-making medications and anti-hallucinogenics. Finally, stay away from bread. Although bread is generally considered ‘the staff of life,’ for you it is the highway to hell. You must abstain from sandwiches—from tuna salad to grilled cheese and Fluffer-nutters. Never touch another submarine sandwich, meatball sandwich, taco, or muffuletta sandwich. When your sandwich days end and you are able to abstain from them forever, it is possible, but not likely, that your craziness will end.”

This came as a blow to my soul. Even though it repulsed me and made me crazy, I loved bread, like my mother who had the same effect on me. So, I followed my therapist’s regime. Now, I am comfortable with bread, and my mother too.

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

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