Paramythia (pa-ra-mee’-thi-a): An expression of consolation and encouragement.
With fake tears in my eyes, I said sarcastically, “Oh my little Bumble Bee. Maybe your wing will grow back! You’ll be able to fly in a straight line instead of spinning around in circles on my coffee table when you flap your remaining wing. Miracles DO happen! I know how you feel, I’m rooting for you!”
Then, there was the Itsy Bitsy spider. Sarcastically, I said: “Oh little ‘Spidey.’ Two legs are better than none. Now, you can take life more slowly, finding your bliss skidding ‘round and ‘round like a merry-go-round on my coffee table. Do you want some dopamine? Be optimistic. If you survive, when you molt your legs will grow back and all will be well. In the meantime, keep on skidding little guy.”
Anthophila (bees) and Arachnids (spiders). I hated them. I pulled off their wings. I pulled off their legs. It was my way of torturing them and exacting my revenge for what an individual had done to me. As species, they were all the same.
I was allergic to bee stings. I found that out when I was six years old. I sat on a hornet at my birthday party at our lake house. It stung me through my bathing suit. I went into anaphylactic shock and nearly died. Now, I carry an “epinephrine pen.” It’s a needle that I jam in my thigh if I get stung. That’s why I torture bees.
When I was twelve, my mother fell into a nest of “Nesting Black Widow” spiders, a species that lives communally. Mother was bitten so many times, she died on the spot—they found her slumped over a pallet board stored in the back of our garage. That’s why I torture spiders.
There’s a good reason for everything. Although something may appear to be cruel and perverse, if you know the back-story, you may change your mind.
After all, bees and spiders are only goddamned insects.
For thousands of years in so-called “Western Culture,” torture has functioned to “get the answers” out of miscreants, such as Ted Bundy, and Lizzie Borden. But more often, it’s been used to provide catharsis for victims. No more medications needed after torturing one’s assailants. Their suffering absorbs one’s suffering. As they say, “Revenge is sweet” and the best proven “sweetener” is torture.
Don’t pity me. I pack an epinephrine-pen, a lidded jar, and a pair of tweezers everywhere I go. Pulling legs is my personal way of managing my grief and fear.
Save your consoling and encouragement for the poor suckers who down a handful of meds every day.
The Daily Trope 