There are many times when I spout a cliché or euphemism and my husband just looks at me blankly. He has no idea what I mean. If I try to explain it to him he wants to know why I didn’t just say that to start with. He doesn’t like to waste words. I love words. I love playing with words.
“Hit the hay” sounds like something a cowboy would do prepare to feed his horse. It has nothing to do with sleeping and sounds very itchy and unpleasant to him.
“That was the last straw,” makes my Aspie think the cowboy has to switch to hay.
“He’s got the trots.” My hubby again thinks of horses when a good dose of Kaopectate is actually in order.
“You’re beating a dead horse.” Or “Get off your high horse.” Speaking of horses, Steve dislikes clichés.
“It’s time to pay the piper.” Metaphorically speaking, you’d need to prepare for the inevitable. Steve looks for his wallet.
“It takes one to know one.” This catch phrase usually goes right over his head, but not mine. I do.
“Happy as a clam.” Okay, my hubby gets this one, but that is just because our Seattle area is home to Ivar’s Acres of Clams. These similes can put Steve out like a light. So does a very large bowl of clam chowder. The real stuff that is white, not red. To which you add oyster crackers that taste exactly like soda crackers and not oysters.
Slang he gets just as long as it’s associated with cars. Four on the floor. Hemi. Bored and stroked. Uncorked. Stroker. Jimmy. T-bucket. Rat. Chopped. Three on the tree.
Fortunately I love cars and I know these terms too. So when my Sweetie gets upset about my 'language', I’ll keep my shirt on, thanks. Otherwise, someone will seek poetic justice and I just might have to jump ship. But not for all the tea in China.