When Life Gets Idiomatic

I love idioms. I have a whole book about them which I often read for a laugh. Sometimes an idiom is the only way to describe a situation.

So let me tell you about my day in a totally idiomatic sense. *

This morning all hell broke loose when my sister told my mother her husband is drinking again.

The shit hit the fan and it was all on for young and old.

They were at loggerheads, shouting and screaming for over an hour. My Dad rang me, asking if I could do something but my sister had told my Mum that I already knew about the drinking (Jeez, she picks today to come clean on everything) and I am in my now Mum’s bad books for not telling her immediately.

They went at it, hammer and tongs, so loudly that one of the neighbours came over to see what was the matter.

The battle lines have been drawn. ‘You will stay with him over my dead body,’ my Mum declared. ‘You should have nipped this behaviour in the bud. You really need to get your act together.’

My sister cried, throwing herself prostrate on the floor as if it was the beginning of the end.

My Mum continued to foam at the mouth. ‘If you think I’m going to put up with this you’re barking up the wrong tree,’ she said. ‘Stop saying you are going to get help and get it. Actions speak louder than words. Men like him – they’re a dime a dozen. They just don’t cut the mustard. If you go on like this you’ll be going to hell in a handbasket.’

My sister and mother cleared the air. Even though my mother had a bone to pick with me she decided to let me off the hook.

My sister is getting help. My mother is still talking to me. Everyone is moving forward.

Perhaps my sister spilling her secret was a blessing in disguise.

* The real events, which were much more non-idiomatic, were relayed to me by my father.