Eustathia (yoos-tay’-thi-a): Promising constancy in purpose and affection.
ME: I am your titanium hip, your gold fillings, your non-biodegradable plastic shopping bag–I am as constant as the smell of Secaucus, the sound of jets taking off from LaGuardia, and the pressure from your parents and friends to get out of town and never come back. Can’t you see what I’m trying to say?
YOU: No.
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Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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