My day job since 2008 has been in elite sport, and in recent weeks there have been times when instead of being considered a glamorous and interesting job to many who I met socially, it has become a reason for mockery and condemnation. This reminds me of a great book cover that seems to have been a staple of airport bookstores for the last few years – Don’t Tell Mom I Work on the Rigs: She Thinks I’m a Piano Player in a Whorehouse.
A running investigation into the beginnings of some of life's great calls. Colloquial Origin Number One: "That Old Chestnut" Of course I'm going to start with one of my favourites. This turn of phrase doesn't often work in my favour, and has been used against me from time to time. It is expressly useful for immaturely debunking a legitimate argument; particularly those involving irritating spousal habits. Yep, that old chestnut. Her: Can you pah-leeeeeease pick up your path of god-damned stinking socks that appear to navigate their way from the bedroom door to the laundry door!? Him: You're always saying you're looking for more direction in life... Is it too much trouble for you to just pick them up on your way? Her: Yes! Him: And why? Her: Because you're a misogynist! Him: Ah...that old chestnut. |
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