Simon was a bad egg, certainly not the brightest bulb in the box. The whole lot of them were crazy as loons, but Simon stood head and shoulders above the rest. Sure, I'd flirted with a few Clichés in my time, who hadn't? Maybe I was guilty of tempting fate, only time will tell.
It wasn't until he showed up at my door one night with that deer in headlights look of his, drunk as a skunk and bent on revenge that I saw the light. He told me he had a bone to pick. I bit my lip and let him speak his peace, but I should have known it would be the same old story. He claimed I'd taken him for a ride.
I was pregnant as a house with the fruit of his loins, you'd think he owed me a little more respect. Instead, he had the nerve to accuse me of a romp in the hay with his twin brother. As though I needed another Cliché in my life! That takes the cake.
There was hell to pay that night. I cleaned Simon's clock. Gave him a taste of his own medicine. He took off like a shot, but hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. In the end, I made short work of him. There's more than one way to skin a cat, I've found. So I bit the bullet and shacked up with his brother, just to drive a nail into the coffin.
And now to make matters worse, I've given birth to a brand new Cliché. He's bound to be a chip off the old block, but what can I do? Can't throw the baby out with the bathwater. I suppose that's just the way the cookie crumbles.
These damned Clichés will haunt me for the rest of my life.