Every day I'm grateful for not being in Cirque de Soleil. If I was, I wouldn't be able to employ one of my favourite phrases: Bend over backwards.
I use it on my wife all the time. "I bend over backwards cutting the lawn for this family." "I bend over backwards putting my own clothes away." "I bend over backwards eating the dinner you cook every day."
Drives her crazy, because there's no good comeback for my logic. I DO bend over backwards, and fuck — it hurts.
Now, if I were in Cirque de Soleil, bending over backwards would be a normal day for me. It wouldn't hurt. I would enjoy it. Please, give me a chore that requires me to bend over backwards. And swing on a rope.
Where would that leave me when I want to stump my wife with a solid argument? With my butt cheek in my mouth cheek, instead of my tongue.
Incidentally, I bend over backwards writing this blog.
You're Welcome.
