Cliches

George was alone in the stable when Curley's wife appeared in the doorway. Their eyes locked, and George looked like a deer in headlights. She was dressed to kill. She was nothing to sneeze at. George knew he was in a world of trouble. That dame was going to jump his bones, he knew it!

“I’m looking for Curley” she said, still standing in the doorway. It was the crack of dawn. 

George wiped the sweat off his brow, and said,"No, Ma'am."


"Well...what's new then?"


"Been working like a dog, busting my ass 'round here," George snapped, with a toothpick hanging out the corner of his mouth. He looked real intimidating. Like a rebel without a cause. George was keeping his cards close to his vest.

 "Well then," Curley's wife continued, "I guess I'll be hitting the ol' dusty trail. I suppose you've had a hard day's night."  


George had an egg on his face. "Maybe," he continued, "I oughta hit the hay and catch some z's. Maybe a cat nap." 


Just then, Curley walked by the entrance of the stable, but did not see George and the apple of his eye.


"Whew," Curley's wife gasped, "that was a close call. I think we should both call it day."


"Okay," George agreed. "Sweet dreams."


"Don't let the bedbugs bite," Curley's wife said with a smirk. She then turned, and walked away.


George knew he was going to hell in a handbasket. If he continued fraternizing with Curley's wife, he was going to get kicked out of the ranch. He remembered the incident in Weed. He hoped history didn't repeat itself.