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A Fly In The Ointment


It was a dark and stormy night and as dense as a London fog. As luck would have it Bob was late getting home, where he was looking forward to being as snug as a bug in a rug, because he was off course as the crow flies because he had to take the long road home as luck would have it.

He thought of his wife Rose - a rose by any other name would smell so sweet - and regretted leaving his cell phone charging on his desk at work. He decided that was a bad call but that thinking about it was like beating a dead horse.

He hoped his wife would like her anniversary present but he knew beauty was in the eye of the beholder. He hoped she didn't think beggars can't be choosers because he'd been there done that with his first wife Mabel. Mabel had been behind the the times, far from the belle of the ball and a knife or two short of the cutlery drawer.

Anyway, as he sat in the detoured traffic he knew he'd be better late than never and in terms of Rose, his second wife, it'd be better the devil he knew than the devil he didn't.

Just then a flock of crows alighted on a nearby tree branch. As the last bird landed the rest looked at him as he said "Hey, birds of a feather flock together."

Well thought Bob I hope I'm not so late that the bloom is off the Rose. After all, having stopped at the butchers,  I'm the one that's bringing home the bacon.

Meanwhile poor Rose wondered just where Bob was. "I'm tired" she said to herself. "I've bee busier than a one-armed paper hanger. I've been burning the candle at both ends around the house and I don't think Bob has noticed."

As the sun set Rose cast a very long shadow across the the floor that was so clean you couldn't hold a candle to it because the cleaning products were so flammable.

Finally Bob arrived. He presented his gift and realized that the chain of the bracelet was only as strong as it's weakest link. He needn't have worried. Rose thought the gift was the cat's meow.

"But Bob I have nothing for you" cried Rose. "Does the Pope wear a funny hat?" said Bob. "It's our anniversary. Why not?"

"Now Bob don't get your knickers in a knot" said Rose. "Knickers in a knot?" cried Bob, down in the mouth. "How could you resort to using cliches at a time such as this?"

And as she put an end to the conversation with her husband she whispered "The end justifies the meanness."

My friends at Studio30+ came up with banal/cliche as this week's writing prompt. And while this post may be banal everything's coming up roses in terms of the number of cliches to be found here. Why, my God, there's everything but the kitchen sink here. Sorry. I can't stop.
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