The whole ball of wax. Up my sleeve.

Have you ever feasted your eyes on something? People have told me to do this, at times, in my life.

“Feast your eyes on this, Polly.”

I could never quite look at the “thing” they were showing me, because suddenly, my mind had been accosted by the thought of “feasting my eyes.” Was I supposed to eat my eyes? Or, somehow bring them large amounts of food? Either way, from there I could only see the gluttony of old Roman orgies, and by that time, I was off the charts.

Truly, this happens to me on a regular basis. I think because my brain has a tendency toward empathy. I visualize and feel the thing, or situation, which is presented.

In a recent conversation, someone was telling me in a “nice” way about a gentleman who probably wasn’t bright enough for the job he was doing. They said, “He’s bitten off more than he can chew.”

And just like that, my mind left the conversation. Now I have this guy in my mind, eating one of those three-foot long submarines, with all the meat and cheese and lettuce, hanging over the bread in all directions. And he looks a little bit like Dagwood, with the hair and all. He’s trying to jam that big sandwich in his mouth. There is an empty mayonnaise jar on the table, with the knife still in it, giving clear evidence that that sandwich was prepped well, and ready to go.

I stand there, nodding. Coming back around to the conversation. Eventually.

I’ve been guilty of these misdemeanors too. I get up very early in the morning. On more than one occasion, I’ve said that I am up “at the crack of dawn.”

Dawn does not crack. It doesn’t boom, or clang, or whistle. The earth just keeps rotating around and we finally get a glimpse of the sun again. The moon heads off in the other direction. All it it transpires, beautifully, silently.

I heard of a recent altercation between two people. I was not there, but apparently, one of the individuals was extremely “hot under the collar.” Is this an ongoing affliction for them? Being hot, just right under the collar. Perhaps, under the collar means “all the way down,” like from their neck to their feet? Or god forbid, was there some sort of fight by flames, and they were set on fire, at the collar? It makes a great case for wearing V-necks.

Naked as a jaybird. It’s embarrassing for the bird and all else involved.
Raining cats and dogs. This one makes me immeasurably sad, and a bit ill.
Makes your blood boil. This could be related to “hot under the collar” or perhaps “blowing off steam.” I think there might be a connection.

All of those scenes are really something to consider. I say all of this with the greatest sincerity. I am not pulling your leg here. I’m not even close to your leg, and quite frankly, I’m not sure you would appreciate me yanking on the thing. Even though we are friends.

I guess the message is clear.
Words can be powerful.
We should use them wisely.


“Some people have a way with words, and other people…oh, uh, not have way.”
― Steve Martin


“I like good strong words that mean something…”
― Louisa May Alcott, Little Women


“But if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought.”
― George Orwell, 1984