Aposiopesis (a-pos-i-o-pee’-sis): Breaking off suddenly in the middle of speaking, usually to portray being overcome with emotion.
It was the most beau beau . . . Damn. I’m sorry. My feelings took over there for a couple of seconds. I’ll give it another try. It was the most beautiful Ba . . . Oh wait. I’m stuck again. This is really hard to do. Maybe if I start at the beginning. As you all know, I’m a native New Yorker. I walk New York. I “talk” New York. My ancestors were Dutch. They went crazy when the Brits took over, doing everything they could to erase the Dutch cultural influences. But all that’s behind me. I am a New Yorker through and through.
I work on Wall Street for an international accounting firm, Arthur J. Jinglebooks. Jinglebooks has been around since the beginning of time. If you’ve travelled extensively, you’ve seen their offices all over the world, and would recognize their logo—a book with a bell clapper hanging out of the bottom.
The current CEO had decided that the firm needed to expand further in the US. So, I was being sent to Jackson, Mississippi to open a new branch. Growing up in New York, I was taught that Mississippi was like the dark side of the moon—loaded with bigots and other not too smart people who all wore overhauls, drove pickup trucks, chewed tobacco, were “too close” to their relatives, and could barely read.
Here I am. The archetypal New Yorker headed down South to start an accounting firm. Would I even be able to find somebody capable of doing math? When I got there, I was led across the parking lot blindfolded. I was sure I would die. But, when we got inside and the blindfold was removed, there was a big chocolate cake that said “Welcome Boss” on it. So, the people were great—all the stereotypes melted away, leaving a good feeling. But, there was one thing that left a bad feeling: the food. Chicken Fried Steak, Grits, Iced Tea day and night—an over-sweetened endless amber river, Alligator n’ Eggs, Biscuits ‘n Gravy, Catfish and hush puppies. I went to MacDonalds as often as I could, but it didn’t work.
Eventually, I finished the job and came back to New York. I started thinking about having an onion bagel with lox and cream cheese somewhere over Georgia. For me, the bagel is the pinnacle of New York cuisine. I literally ran to Bella’s Bagels when I got out of my cab. I tore open the door and the smell was so beautiful I almost fainted. I ordered my onion bagel and lox with cream cheese. When I bit in, it was like kissing an angel. I ordered a bag of plain bagels. I was home again!
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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