Repotia (re-po’-ti-a): 1. The repetition of a phrase with slight differences in style, diction, tone, etc. 2. A discourse celebrating a wedding feast.
Where have I been all my life? As the clocks hummed on the kitchen wall, was I lost in a remnant of time? O’Clock, surely it originated in Ireland with O’Leary and O’Brien and all the rest of the O’Men. I’m not a pilgrim or a wanderer. I am stumbling through a tight-fitting tunnel—horrifying, cold, and damp, lined with clocks all (as far as I can see) with different times, to the point that there is no time but the present. My imagination is muffled by my plight. I might as well be a diamond or a piece of coal sticking out of the wall, or a bat or a blind salamander skittering away on the wet floor. Yet, there is an echo of joy bouncing off the tunnel’s walls. And yes! I can see light. There is a future! There is music!
What the hell happened to me. I’ll tell you what the hell happened to me. I got married. Now, I have to give a speech. I feel like there’s a cobra slithering my gut. I am at the edge of a heart attack. I might pee my pants. But I got married, so here I go:
“When I first met you I couldn’t wait to get away from you fast enough. You blabbered non-stop about trivial nonsense like your favorite nail polish, or your new shoes. The next time I saw you, you had just gotten out of the hospital from your accident—your concussion and your brief coma. You no longer blabbered. You no longer talked trivia. You were slower, more determined in your speech as you struggled to say anything at all. When you did talk, your voice had a Barbara Walters lilt. I love the way you said “Twavel” when we planed our first vacation or “Bwed” when we go grocery shopping. And especially, when you tell me you “Wuv” me, like you said this morning. And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention your full-body tremors when we make love. Haha! I know that’s a little racy, but I couldn’t resist. Then, there’s the huge insurance settlement you were awarded after your accident. Just think how much you would’ve been awarded if the accident made you a vegetable—but here we are—married!
We will last at least until the end of the week. Haha! Another funny joke courtesy me! But seriously, our love is like a new tire—many miles to go down the highway of life until we go bald and we go flat. If we’re wearing our seatbelts we will come out unscathed—no head injuries. Haha! Get it? Anyway, I will do all I can to love you and support you. The first thing I’m going to do is buy you a bottle of your favorite nail polish—Revelon “Peach Raison Licorice.” Then we’ll go on a long vacation. Why? Because I wuv you.”
God, am I glad that’s over! It won’t make the local papers, but it was good enough. My new wife Minchy, loved it. I could tell because she opened her eyes really wide and raised her fist once or twice. We’re headed to Hawaii for our honeymoon. There are a lot of breathtaking cliffs there. Minchy’s a little unsteady on her feet. We’ve done some planning, and decided when we go cliff walking I will walk in front and Minchy would hold onto my belt.
The plane landed in Kauai and the two of them got out and were draped by leis. They were half-loaded when they got to their hotel. He wanted to go cliff walking. She agreed. Off they went. Minchy came back alone. She had dropped her phone over a cliff and couldn’t for help. She said, “One minute he was thewre, the next he was gwone.” They found him quietly cursing, curled up in a fetal position behind a big piece of lava. He found out the hard way that he suffered from acrophobia—fear of heights.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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