Epitheton (e-pith’-e-ton): Attributing to a person or thing a quality or description-sometimes by the simple addition of a descriptive adjective; sometimes through a descriptive or metaphorical apposition. (Note: If the description is given in place of the name, instead of in addition to it, it becomes antonomasia or periphrasis.)
Life was filled with difficulties when I was growing up. My father was bipolar. Every week he spent every penny of his paycheck. He was permanently manic, and spending money fulfilled his need for excitement. He bought Ginzsu knives advertised on TV. He bought 200 hula hoops and burned them in the back yard. They made thick black smoke and stunk. He bought three baby carriages for mom. The last baby she had had was Nick, 10 years ago. One more example: he bought 6 mail-order spider monkeys from Panama. They came strapped in cardboard boxes. Dad turned them all loose downtown, where they were captured by the dog catcher and sent to a nearby zoo.
Then, there was my mother. After watching “Gunsmoke” countless times, she fancied herself as Kitty, the dance hall girl. Her name was Nancy so she called herself “Kitty Nancy.” She wore an ostrich plume in her hair with a red satin dress and black satin gloves up to her elbows. She called me Chester, and made me affect a limp around the house and talk in a scratchy high-pitched voice. We had steak and potatoes for dinner every night, plus a shot of whiskey that we were instructed to drink slowly. Mom said she wished Dad was more like Marshall Dillion, but he wasn’t—he was just a crazy “cowhand” who spent his time buying things that nobody wanted or needed. “I keep telling Marshall Dillion to arrest him,” but the Marshal says “Shopping ain’t no crime.” Mom believed Marshall Dillon lived in the attic. She’d go up there for hours at a time. You could hear her laughing and talking. Dad bought five bear traps to catch Marshall Dillion. He had no luck.
Then, there’s my sister Lucy. She spends all her free time drawing pictures of horses and naming them. She’s not so bad. She steals things, but she never gets caught. She stole a Mercedes and drove it to Las Vegas, where she sold it to a friend of Dad’s. We call her “Lucky Lucy”—we all hope the name fits her forever. She’s coming up on her 19th birthday, and Dad wants to buy her a few things—a set of hedge clippers, a front loader, a collection of wigs, and a boat. I don’t know how far he’ll get, but it’s the thought that counts. Lucky’ll be happy no mater what.
Then, there was my mother. After watching “Gunsmoke” countless times, she fancied herself as Kitty, the dance hall girl. Her name was Nancy so she called herself “Kitty Nancy.” She wore an ostrich plume in her hair with a red satin dress and black satin gloves up to her elbows. She called me Chester, and made me affect a limp around the house and talk in a scratchy high-pitched voice. We had steak and potatoes for dinner every night, plus a shot of whiskey that we were instructed to drink slowly. Mom said she wished Dad was more like Marshall Dillion, but he wasn’t—he was just a crazy “cowhand” who spent his time buying things that nobody wanted or needed. “I keep telling Marshall Dillion to arrest him,” but the Marshal says “Shopping ain’t no crime.” Mom believed Marshall Dillon lived in the attic. She’d go up there for hours at a time. You could hear her laughing and talking. Dad bought five bear traps to catch Marshall Dillion. He had no luck.
Then, there’s my sister Lucy. She spends all her free time drawing pictures of horses and naming them. She’s not so bad. She steals things, but she never gets caught. She stole a Mercedes and drove it to Las Vegas, where she sold it to a friend of Dad’s. We call her “Lucky Lucy”—we all hope the name fits her forever. She’s coming up on her 19th birthday, and Dad wants to buy her a few things—a set of hedge clippers, a front loader, a collection of wigs, and a boat. I don’t know how far he’ll get, but it’s the thought that counts. Lucky’ll be happy no mater what.
Finally, we come to my little brother Knick-Knack Nick. He got his name for trying to eat Knick-knacks that were scattered around the house. For example, he tried to eat a “Statue of Liberty” statuette. He chipped two teeth. Once, he almost succeeded in swallowing a snow globe with a waving Santa Clause and a Christmas tree inside. He got his jaws around it and it got stuck in his mouth. My father took him to his brother Buck Bob’s gas station where they pried the snow globe out with a tire iron and a screwdriver. After that, Mom made Dad build shelves out of Knick-knack’s reach. Now, he doesn’t do much. He spends a lot of time in his room. Sometimes, he makes a loud noise like a foghorn and opens and closes his bedroom door yelling “I’m flying, way up high like a frozen pizza pie, I ‘m flying.” We’re trying to get him a job, but we can’t figure out what he can do—%maybe he cold wok in a pizzeria.
Aside from playing Chester for my mom, I’m pretty normal. I enjoy walking on hot coals on cold winter days. I’m a member of the “Voodoo Walkers.” We dress up like dead people and groan, and wander around town. I’ve become adept at applying makeup. I was laying on a park bench and I heard a zipping sound. The Coroner was standing the ready to bag me. When I sat up he screamed and ran.
In addition to my club, I go jogging. I’m trying to beat the speed record for running around the lake in the park. I’ve been taking supplements to enhance my speed and stamina. They all give me diarrhea. When I get hit with the Big D I don’t stop running—I’m “going” while I’m going. It’s noisy and it throws the other runners off pace, and enhances my prospect for being the fastest man around the lake. When I’m done, I wash my butt off in the Men’s Room sink & put on my sweat pants. I leave my soiled shorts in the Men’s Room. Hopefully, a homeless person will find them and rehabilitate them.
Dad just bought me a 100-gallon hot water heater. It’s the thought that counts.
Aside from my club, I go jogging. I’m trying to beat the speed record for running around the lake in the park. I’ve been taking supplements to enhance my speed and stamina. They all give me diarrhea. When I get hit with the Big D I don’t stop running—I’m “going” while I’m going. It’s noisy and it throws the other runners off pace, and enhances my prospect for being the fastest man around the lake. When I’m done, I wash my butt off in the Men’s Room sink & put on my sweat pants. I leave my soiled shorts in the Men’s Room. Hopefully, a homeless person will find them and rehabilitate them.
Dad just bought me a 100-gallon hot water heater. It’s the thought that counts.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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