Apodixis (a-po-dix’-is): Proving a statement by referring to common knowledge or general experience.
Pine trees are made out of pine. That’s why they are named PINE trees. If I said I am a pine tree that would not be accurate. I am made out of flesh and blood, not pine. I am called a “human,” but not “a flesh and blood.” Technically, I am meat. When I went to a bar, I would say “I’m going to the meat market.” Girls are meat. I wanted to pick one out, get her drunk, and take her home. I liked them lean, but late on a Friday night we’ll-marbled or hefty were fine. We all know, you can’t always get what you want, but sometimes you can get what you need. Nine times out of ten I hit the right spot around midnight, and you know, a lot of liquor goes a long way. You might ask “A long way where?” Down Bracken Street, right on Grove and left on Briarcliffe. That’s where! My place. Worked every time. Well, almost every time.
Two years ago, I brought a corpulent lady home with me. Given her BMI she was still half-sober at midnight. I thought maybe that would make things more fun. I told her to sit on the couch, and that I had to get ready in the kitchen. “The kitchen?” She asked. I said “You’ll see.” I was in the kitchen for about five minutes and she asked “What’s that smell?” “Wait!” I said. I came out of the kitchen with a big red bowl full of popcorn and a dvd of “Love Story” from the 60s. I love the way the girlfriend dies at the end of the movie. Every girl I ever brought home loved it, and being drunk helped them get in touch with their emotions and stay awake for the whole movie. But not this girl!
She pushed me down on the couch and started kissing me. Her tongue was as big as a popsicle. I was shocked, but I didn’t say “No.” She buried me with her body. I could hardly breathe. After it was over, she demanded I call her a cab and pay for it too. I did. I was afraid. She ordered me to give her my cellphone number so we could stay in touch. I thought about getting a new SIM card. The next day she texted me. She invited herself over on Friday and sent me a nude picture with a Parakeet perched on her finger. I thought about calling the police, but what would I say? There was nothing remotely criminal yet—harassment wouldn’t work because I couldn’t say “No.” I had always been passive. Being that way never got me in trouble. And as crazy as it seems, I was ready for another round of floppy flesh.
To make a long story short, we got married. On Fridays, we reenact the popcorn episode. It never gets old. Things you love never lose their luster. Our relationship is bright and shiny.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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