The Golden Haired Girl
A full paragraph of robust imagery is utilized simply for the purpose of describing a women with blonde hair presenting a striking sight. The final bit of imagery reveals with pure simplicity that she is armed. This aspect seems a bit underwhelming compared the poetic language describing just her mouth:
“Her teeth were like an array of jewels between the lips.”
“Pillow Talk”
The plot of this story is pretty absurd, verging on the ridiculous. It basically boils down to a contest of wills to determine the bragging rights of which of two parties is wealthier than the other. And it all commences with the type of late night boudoir discussion that has earned itself a familiar metaphorical terminology: “pillow talk.”
In Other Words: You Got Served!
A veritable parade of metaphorical imagery is used to put across one very simple fact. One character takes it upon himself to remind another that, well, he just got himself a whupping on the field of battle. Perhaps, just perhaps, he goes a bit over the top:
“Your enemy shook you then as easily as a loving mother slaps her son! He tossed you aside as if he was rinsing a coup in a tub! He crushed you like a mill crushing for malt! He went through you like a drill through an oak! He bound you in knots like a creeper entangling a tree! He pounced on you like a hawk on a little bird!”
In Other Words: Never Say Die
The consequence of this overkill of metaphorical imagery situating the idea of being on the receiving end of a whupping is exactly what one might expect. After all, them’s fighting words up there. And there is only one honorable thing to do when one has been pushed to such a limit:
“At that Cuchulainn rose up for the third time, quick as the wind, swift as a swallow, in a storm of strength and dragonish fury”
The Revenge of Cuchulainn
As it turns out, however, the third time is not the charm for Cuchulainn. All he gets for the trouble is yet another whupping. And in the face of that defeat, he also humiliates himself by running away to fight another day. That day does come, however, and with it comes an arrogant confidence that, based on past events, really does seem to be quite misplaced:
“Come here, friend Fergus…I swear by Ulster’s god...I’ll churn you up like foam churned in a pool! I’ll stand up over you like a cat’s tail erect! I’ll batter you as easily as a loving woman slaps her son!”
