I have no bones about trying another cliché story. I’ve got another one on the tip of my tongue, so put your feet up and stay a while. Hopefully I’ll keep you on the edge of your seat. The proof is in the pudding, so meander on into the thick of it.
We already had one paw on the chicken coop, so we decided to go for broke and paid an arm and a leg to buy the farm. That first day it was raining cats and dogs so we fixed the little red wagon and busted our humps to separate the chaff from the wheat. That night we were dog tired and wanted to catch some Z’s so we laid down with the dogs and let the cat out of the bag, then had to grab the hair of the dog that bit me. That got his goat and we went to sleep with the fishes. Soon enough we were sleeping like babies.
The next day was a blue Monday. We woke up with the chickens when the sky was ablaze with light, but that’s not all it’s cracked up to be. We had thrown caution to the wind and didn’t count our chickens before they hatched, so we had more than we knew what to do with, which set our teeth on edge.
We couldn’t win for losing and later that day we stirred up an ant’s nest and got ants in our pants, then got caught with our pants down when we tried to beat them off with a stick. It was a comedy of errors. By the time the sun didn’t shine we’d had a bee in our bonnet, butterflies in our stomach, and had opened a can of worms that we couldn’t get out of our hair, but it was nothing earth-shattering.
Later we closed the barn door after the horse had bolted then put a carrot on a stick to lead him to water, but couldn’t make him drink. Then we upset the apple cart when we put the cart before the horse. Since at first we didn’t succeed, we tried and tried again with a horse of a different color. Then we went on a wild goosechase chasing the chicken running around with its head cut off. We were fresh out of ideas, and felt as old as the hills, so we called it a night.
Say what you will, the more we learn, the less we know, and working the farm has been the best thing since sliced apples. Hopefully we’ll reap what we sow; we’ve been sowing our wild oats fast and furious even though we haven’t got a row to hoe. Soon it will be summer. The days will be as beautiful as the day is long and all sunshine and roses. If our crops are growing like weeds, we’ll be as happy as a pig in mud.
Next week is Spring Break. I will be cheerfully chasing children and taking a writing break. I’ll be back 3 April with a new cliché story.
Previous Cliché Stories