Lisa's Cliche Story

OK, I hope you guys are working on your own cliche story, because I don't want to be the only one doing this! But, if it happens, it happens. Such is life. There's nothing to fear except fear itseslf. Everybody knows that. Come on, face it. Here goes, come what may, and we're off...

A TALL TALE

This morning, at the crack of dawn, I got up on the wrong side of the bed, and stepped on a cold turkey, which I was going to cook for dinner tonight. Well, naturally that opened up a can of worms when my mother saw it, because she had wanted a lame duck. Since I don't particularly care for duck -- lame, sitting, or dead -- I told her that soon we would have days of wine and roses, and I’d prepare a fancy feast, complete with ducks in a row. She was pleased as punch, yet choked with emotion, because she had nothing to bring to the table except sour grapes; a grain of salt, and two shakes of a lamb’s tail. I told her it would be my treat, and brought her a bowl of duck soup. "See?" I said, "if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and looks like a duck, it must be a duck! The proof is in the pudding." I could tell that brightened her day, which lifted my spirits, and we savored the moment.

About midday, we decided to take a walk down in the dumps. I was thankful that we went the whole nine yards, because we hit the jackpot! I found some things that had been cut and dried, and at one point, turned to my mother and said, "Look! There's a feather in your cap." When I removed it, suddenly there were birds of a feather! "Flock together!" my mother cried, because it had started raining cats and dogs. Quickly, she let the cat out of the bag. I asked her if the cat got her tongue, because she was speaking with a forked tongue, and was slow as molasses. Her face was white as snow, and it was hard to swallow. But, since time heals all wounds, she was eventually given a clean bill of health. But that’s a whole other story!

On the way back home, to make a long story short, we didn’t cross the bridge until we came to it, which disgruntled my mother, as she was afraid of falling down the pipe. "Dream!" I told her, because when we stopped to take a rest, her and Rover took a catnap, and I normally prefer to let sleeping dogs lie. Later, when we came to a fork in the road, we took the road less traveled, which leads to nowhere. Suddenly, from a bolt out of the blue, my mother, crazy as a bat and a slowpoke, wanted to call it a day, but I said, "Now justa’ cotton-pickin’ minute! All in due time!" For a split-second, I thought she was going to pull the wool over my eyes, but as it turns out, she was just yanking my chain. But then, as luck would have it, she insisted that we find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and I, knowing that silence is golden, said nothing. She began ranting and raving until she was blue in the face, so I told her that if we could see light at the end of the tunnel, then we’d be in business. I knew that I was talking to a brick wall, however, when she gave me some cock and bull story about betting the farm and there being a bee in her bonnet!

We finally made it over the hill and through the woods, which is when we both agreed that there’s no place like home.

The moral of the story is, don’t count your eggs before they hatch. That’s the good news. The bad news is, there’s egg on your face! Film at eleven.