Catachresis (kat-a-kree’-sis): The use of a word in a context that differs from its proper application. This figure is generally considered a vice; however, Quintilian defends its use as a way by which one adapts existing terms to applications where a proper term does not exist.
I was reticent to jump out the window. It was three feet to the ground where mother’s beloved flower bed was filled with color, the result of years of hard labor, and the consequence of an unhealthy rivalry with Mrs. Better across the street. But why the hell was I even hesitating? Grandpa was in flames in his living room chair and he was headed toward lighting the entire living room on fire. “Everclear” and a “Swisher Sweet” cigar were a bad combination. It was inevitable, but I didn’t think it would be today. I felt the heat of the flames, and I jumped, landing in the rich well-turned loam and crushing four different-colored tulips.
The fire department came and they quickly put the fire out—it didn’t spread much from Grandpa, scorching the carpet and chair and burning up the table by the chair with Grandpa’s medication and where his Rubic’s cube usually was. He loved that Rubic’s cube. He never solved it, but he said it kept his wrists limber. Where was it?
He was put in a black rubber bag and and zipped it up. I couldn’t watch him being bagged. Suddenly there was movement inside the bag. The EMT unzipped it and there was dead Grandpa holding his Rubic’s cube with his hand twitching in post-morten convulsions. In death, he had nearly solved the puzzle, but his convulsions stopped before he could finish. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. The EMTs zipped Grandpa’s bag back up and wheeled him out the door.
My mother came storming in holding the tulips I had crushed. “What were you thinking stupid boy? These tulips came straight from Amsterdam. A client gave them to me as a special bonus. You know that’s where I met your father when I put my butt up to the glass and he licked it, winning my heart and making me his wife. So, you should know how much pain you’ve caused by crushing them!” With that, she started slapping me across the face with them until they turned to juice. I reminded Mom that the tulip bulbs were unharmed and the tulips would come back next year. She didn’t care. She started throwing dirt balls at me. One hit me in the eye and enraged me. I wanted to kill her. I threw Grandpa’s “Everclear” bottle at her and hit het a glancing blow to the head. The rubber mask flew off. Holy shit! It was Grandpa. “Jesus Grandpa! Who was that in your chair?” Grandpa said, “My twin brother Florio. I didn’t know he existed. He showed up here 3 months ago and tied me up in the bomb shelter in the basement. He has been collecting my Social Security checks and stole your poor dead dad’s coin collection and guns and sold them for half of what they’re worth,”
I was shocked: “God Grandpa! Where the hell is Mom?” Where did you get the Mom mask? Grandpa said, “Mom lives next door and visits every day. Up until my twin brother showed up, everything worked fine. He is dangerous a kept one of your dad’s guns in the chair with him. I got loose from the bomb shelter, but was afraid to confront him or contact the police. I have 100s of parking tickets. So, I resurrected the Mom mask I had made so your mother could cheat on your father. I disguised myself as her and pretended to be her when she went next door for her trysts. There’s more to the story, but enough is enough.”
“Are you sure you’re my real grandpa?” I asked. “Grandpa” looked at me and headed for the door. He pulled the Mom mask back on and said he was going to buy a new Rubic’s cube at the toy store.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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