Money Doesn't Grow on Trees

Colin was homeless—a fact known by all the people living in his small town. He was a big guy, he was at least a head taller most of the townspeople so he really stood out in more ways than one.

One day he was wandering along an abandoned path looking for berries when he stumbled upon a beautiful, strange-looking tree. It was taller than Colin but its branches were low enough that he could climb them. The flowers looked interesting, so he climbed on up, praying that they were edible.

What he found growing on the tree was an amazing surprise—it was money! Not just dollar bills, either, but $50 bills and $20 bills. Colin couldn’t believe his luck. He pulled a couple of bills down and ran back to town, vowing never to tell another soul where the tree was located.

The first thing Colin tried to do was buy a meal, but the waiter turned him away the moment he walked inside.

“Shoo, shoo. Get out,” the restaurant owner yelled from his back office.

So Colin left. He went to the tailor to see if he could purchase a new suit, in the hopes that a new look would fix his appearance and he’d be allowed to buy some food.

But, once again, Colin was told to leave the store—and this time he was accused of stealing the money! The tailor threatened to call the cops if Colin ever set foot in the shop again.

So he left. He decided to go to the local grocery and buy a load of bread. Whenever Colin had money, he spent in on bread at the local grocery, so he had high hopes for his visit.

Yet again, Colin was turned away. He tried to tell the shop owner about the money tried while he begged for food, but it didn’t work.

The shop owner scoffed and said, “Money doesn’t grow on trees, Colin. I know that, you know that, everyone knows that. Get out of my store with that fake money.”

So Colin left, devastated, and headed back down the abandoned path to the money tree. He sat against the trunk of the tree, crying quietly about the state of his reputation.

How could they think I was lying? Or, worse yet, that I was a thief! he thought.

He slumped down further against the magical tree and ate the only thing he could find for food—the money flowers.

Curiosity Killed the Cat

The cat was dead. There was no question about that. I felt his little chest for any signs of life—nothing.

Only one question remained: who killed the cat?

Could it have been Elise, the cat’s owner? She’d been complaining about him for a while now—the cat was too dumb, the cat was mean, the cat had a habit of shredding the drapes when he was left home alone. Had Elise finally gotten fed up with the cat and killed it in a moment of rage? No, he was all Elise had—kill the cat and she would find herself alone again.

Could it have been Caitlin, the cat-sitter? She never really liked the cat in the first place, and she had every opportunity to sneak a little poison into his food jar when she was housesitting for Elise… But without the cat, she wouldn’t have made any money, and Caitlin was two-months behind on her rent. It just didn’t add up.

Could it have been a stranger, some kind of cat killer who committed his crimes in the cover of the night? Ah, but what motive would this cat killer have had? The cat never went outside—it was unlikely anyone even knew he existed, let alone had enough anger towards him to commit a murder.

I’d explored all the options and I had absolutely no idea what to say. In front of me stood Elise, Caitlin, and my Pet Crimes Partner, Lou. I was supposed to be the prodigy, the Pet Crimes Whisperer, but here I was—clueless.

“One thing is for sure,” I started, unsure of where the thought would take me. “Curiosity killed this cat.”

X Marks the Spot

“Aiy, what’s this here marking on the ground? Nine boxes—some be empty, some be having Os, and some be having Xs! They must be marking the spot for tiny treasures! Aiy matey, dig them up and bring them back to The Captain. Get to it!”

They dug and they dug where each X marked a spot, but they still came up with no treasure. When they realized the Xs were not, in fact, marking any spots, the leader sighed a big sigh and turned away from his crew.

“Those hooligan pirates, they fooled us again. I’ll be betting there’s no treasure on this God forsaken island—“ he was saying when he suddenly stopped and peered off into the distance.

Up in the sky, the clouds were forming what looked like an X over a neighboring island.

“Aiy, mateys! An X in the sky, marking the spot where the treasure be!” he yelled.

And just like that, they were off to follow the next X.

As Easy as Shooting Fish in a Barrel

This idiom has always confused me.  I’m no expert with a gun—I’ve only shot one once at my then-boyfriend’s house down in Texas—but it doesn’t seem like shooting fish in a barrel would be the easiest thing.

First of all, we usually catch fish, not shoot them.  It seems to me that is for a reason.  Maybe it’s because fish move around so much and so constantly.  Maybe it’s because water can mess with your depth perception, which is important when trying to be an accurate shooter.  Maybe it’s something else entirely, I’m not sure!

Also, if you’re shooting fish in a barrel, that barrel is going to have holes in it.  That will allow the water to drain from those holes, which will mess with your water-to-fish ratio.  I suppose that would make it easier though, because as the water drains the fish have less space to swim away to.

After a while you’d be shooting fish in an empty barrel, which would be way easier.  And after even more time, you’d essentially be shooting dead fish that were lying at the bottom of that empty barrel.

So I guess this idiom makes some sense.  Either way you’re going to end up with a bunch of dead fish—goal achieved!

New Facebook Page

Hi everyone! Please like my new Facebook page— I’ll be posting every time I have a new story, some fun contests where you can suggest new idioms, and some outtake photos from my blog photo shoots! I’d love if you liked the page, and please suggest it to your friends, as well. Feel free to connect with me through Facebook– I love hearing from people who are interested in my blog, have suggestions on how to improve it, or just want to say hello and get to know me a little bit!

Here’s the link: https://www.facebook.com/idiomsoftheenglishlanguage

Keep Your Eyes Peeled

Shannon looked at the heaping piles of meat in front of her on the table.  She’d signed up for this cooking class 4 months ago with her best friend Amy, but, like always, Amy bailed at the last minute and Shannon was stuck going alone.

The teacher was intense to say the least.  She was a little French woman with a heavy accent and curly white hair.  She was very passionate about cooking—and it definitely showed!  She certainly wasn’t afraid to yell at her students when they made a mistake.  She carried a wooden spoon that she would bang on the table to get their attention when they messed up.  Shannon was terrified of the woman, in all honesty.

They were making a bunch of dishes using a pig, the meat from which was piled high on the table in stacks.  All the students had placed the eyes in separate bowls.  Shannon got a weird feeling every time she looked at them, but she couldn’t stop herself from staring.  She felt like she was obsessing about the eyes a little too much but the idea of using them was just so foreign to her.

Shannon could hear the teacher talking but she was only half listening.  Those eyes were starting to haunt her.  The teacher was instructing the class on what to do next but Shannon didn’t care anymore.

Smack!  The wooden spoon banged on the table in front of Shannon.

“Keep your eyes peeled!” the teacher yelled before turning around and walking back to the front of the room.

Shannon picked up her pig eyes and, with her own eyes shut, began peeling them.

“Non!  Qu’est-ce que tu fais?!  Non, non, non,” the teacher screamed in Shannon’s direction.

Shannon turned around to see who was in trouble before realizing she was sitting in the last row and the teacher was staring directly at her.

“What?” Shannon asked.  She didn’t speak French.

“What are you doing?  Don’t peel the eyes, keep your eyes peeled for bad meat,” the teacher said.

“Oh, sorry,” Shannon said, putting the eyes down.

Shortly afterwards, Shannon packed up her bag and slipped out of the classroom, never to return.

Raining Cats and Dogs

You’re sitting on your couch in your house when you hear a big commotion outside.  You run to the door, pull it open and head into the light.  Squinting in the cloudy brightness, you make out the shape of a group of people.  They’re standing around something that looks like it might be an animal.  You’re fairly small so you work your way up to the front of the crowd.  It’s a dog.  There’s only a murmur coming from the back of the crowd now; the rest have fallen silent, shocked and pale.

You wonder what happened.  You wonder where this dog came from.  You wonder why it’s not wearing a collar and where it’s owner might be.  Everything is so mysterious, but the people are so intrigued.  It’s actually kind of nice, seeing that people still care about something.

You can’t stand the mystery for too long, though.  You turn to the man standing next to you and ask what happened.

“It fell,” he says, “fell right from the sky.”

As you’re about to ask for more of an explanation from the man you believe is clearly crazy, you hear another noise.  It sounds like a screech, high-pitched and full of fear.

That’s when you see it.  Something falling from the sky, tumbling towards the ground, terrified.

“It’s a bird!  It’s a plane!” you hear people shout.

“Wait,” one woman says, “it’s a cat!”

That’s insane, you think.  It’s not possible.

But, sure enough, it starts raining cats and dogs.