Wordsmithing

THE COOL AS A CUCUMBER BLOGFEST!
If you want to have some fun why not head over to Madeleine's Scribble and Edit Blog.

The rules are simple: 

Turn the cliché on its head, using irony and satire. Make it the subject of a Flash Fiction piece, a Poem or a Limerick.

Liberally sprinkle your entries with well placed clichés or make them the twist to your tale.

Make it the twist on the punch line to your story. Or make it a witty observation: e.g. Rachel's Holiday by Marion Keyes (1997) He kept touching his hair, which, as well as being dyed to within an inch of its life, was blow dried flicked and rigid with spray.

You may choose whichever idiom you like, such as 'The cat that got the cream'; 'As cool as a cucumber'; 'As good as gold', 'Kick the bucket'. Max 400 words for Flash Fiction.

KEEPING UP WITH THE JONES AND KEEPING THE WOLF FROM THE DOOR

Molly, newly appointed house maid to the Reverend and Mrs Smith had been employed to lighten the load on the dainty Mrs Smith. For, truth be told, Daisy Smith's strength was challenged by handbags and teacups.

“Besides,” the Reverend announced, “’tis common knowledge, in the village, that the Rector, Mr Jones, had felt it was necessary to take on a maid of all works.”

Molly was keen to make a good impression so she set off with the lark. Her fingers were in a jam sandwich she carried with her. She hurried but somehow time flew by. She took the shortcut through the minister’s garden.

It was a warm day and the insects buzzed around Molly’s head. It wasn’t until she was introducing herself to her new employer that Molly found out she had a bee in her bonnet.

More than a little irritated, Mrs Smith was hot headed by the time the busy bee was gone.

Molly was banished out to the gardens which was a bit steep. Carrying a pitcher of milk from the dairy, she got caught in a rut and pitched head-first into the jars that had been collected and awaited washing.

Picking herself up from amongst shards of glass, Molly realised she was in a bit of a pickle. Mess was everywhere. Blood was thicker than water and a lot harder to clean up. But a maid's work is never done so, despite the pain in the neck, she had to get a move on. There was no use crying over spilt milk. That, or any other kinds of messes.

The hours were long and Molly was worn out.

Sharp, hungry howls sliced through the stillness. As she staggered to a stop, she gauged how far away the wolves were. Far enough. Safe enough. 
Molly shook her head, she'd tried to finish up but there weren’t enough hours in the day to get everything done. In the minister's garden, she'd only had time to sweep the broken glass up to the veranda built around the edge of the Smith's house. Still she had earned her wages, and that should keep the wolf from the door.

WORDS ARE WONDERFUL. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE WORD?