One of the most common idioms in America occurs when a person announces his/her candidacy for political office. They are said to “throw their hat in the ring.” Based on this year’s crop of candidates, beginning with the primaries, I propose this idiom be changed to “Throw their dirty underwear in the ring.”
A great example of this is the response of an elder statesman, who, when asked if he’d consider running for president, answered, “Depends.”—obviously referencing his undergarments.
Those who lost in the primaries are expected to retrieve their underwear from the ring for use in future campaigns. As they slide back into their Fruit of the Looms, let’s hope they remember—yellow stain in the front, brown stripe goes to the rear.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, our facilitator, who would never mention unmentionables in public is Victoria Hanes Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. To rent a booth in the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Ethel sighed and gazed out over the motionless body of water. “Norman, do you remember our first visit to Golden Puddle?”
“I sure do. That must have been forty years ago. It was so dry that summer the trees were chasing dogs.”
“Yes, but you insisted we sit in the row boat and work the oars. When you fell overboard I threw you a life buoy. You clung to the ring while I pulled you from the dust.”
“And as I recall, you laughed so hard you wet your pants.”
Ethel blushed. “And there I sat, on Golden Piddle.”