ON a dark and stormy night, I put my nose to the grindstone and, having gotten up on the wrong side of the bed, decided to put my foot down and get to the bottom of clichés. Knowing opposites attract, I sought the advice of a man who was both fit as a fiddle and a chip off the old block.
“What’s wrong, cat got your tongue?” I asked, adding insult to injury. “Well, to be perfectly honest, it’s all in a day’s work,” he replied.
“I hate to beat a dead horse, but why do people think clichés are the greatest thing since sliced bread? I know beggars can’t be choosers and I don’t like to count my chickens before they hatch, but clichés drive me up a wall. Can we call a spade a spade and talk turkey? This elephant in the room really gets my goat.”
“I think you have bitten off more than you can chew here. After all, the bigger they are the harder they fall.” Now he was speaking the naked truth. We both knew there is more than one way to skin a cat. Besides, he had me out on a limb. Quick as a wink, a perfect storm was brewing. Having struck gold, I knew we were seeing eye to eye.
“To the best of my knowledge,” he said tongue in cheek, “clichés are too good to be true and too numerous to mention. But they are tough as nails, so I would not touch them with a ten-foot pole.” Why, I was fit to be tied.
“Some are tried and true, I agree, but what goes around comes around, and when the going gets tough the tough get going.” I minded my p’s and q’s while I waited for the other shoe to drop.
“Well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, I will agree, but don’t pull your punches. I don’t rob Peter to pay Paul, and neither should you. One minute I am on cloud nine and the next I am on pins and needles. It’s no skin off my back if we nip this in the bud. Are you sure you are playing with a full deck?” he asked.
“Like father, like son,” I replied with a last-ditch effort to knock it out of the park. “I am honest as the day is long, but sometimes I get a little hot under the collar.” You could have heard a pin drop. “I am looking for a little give and take here, but I am ready to fly the coop and go for broke. Why, hang fire! I am a force to be reckoned with!”
“Hold your horses! I beg to differ. No need to get your back up.” He could tell he was up a creek without a paddle. “I am willing to go the extra mile here, so let’s kiss and make up. In a nutshell, I can see I am in over my head. It goes without saying that in a perfect world we like to jump in with both feet.” He looked like death warmed over.
It is true what they say, whoever ‘they’ is, that we should not judge a book by its cover. We can lose out temper without losing our head. Clichés can be man’s best friend, and they help make the best of a bad situation, but sometimes they make my blood boil. Sometimes, I am fit to be tied. But there is no use crying over spilled milk. If nothing is ventured then nothing is gained, as the wise men say.
“Off the top of my head, I would say we are older and wiser, but I am sure we are a day late and a dollar short,” I admitted.
“Yes,” he agreed, “but there is one born every minute. I am pleased as punch that you don’t pass the buck. Let’s kiss and make up.”
Finally, we both cut bait and lived happily ever after.
BC Cook, PhD taught history for over 20 years. He lived on Saipan and travels the Pacific but currently lives on the mainland U.S.
BC Cook
