A man staggered home late after another evening with
his drinking buddies. Shoes in left hand to avoid waking his wife, he
tiptoed as quietly as he could toward the stairs leading to their
bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step in the darkened entryway.
As he caught himself by grabbing the banister, his body
swung around and he landed heavily on his rump. A whiskey bottle in each
back pocket broke and made the landing especially painful. Managing to
suppress a yelp, the man sprung up, pulled down his pants, and examined
his lacerated and bleeding cheeks in the mirror of a nearby darkened
hallway, then managed to find a large full box of Band-Aids and
proceeded to place a patch as best he could on each place he saw blood.
After hiding the now almost empty box, he managed to shuffle and stumble
his way to bed. In the morning, the man awoke with searing pain in head
and butt and his wife staring at him from across the room. She said,
"You were drunk again last night." Forcing himself to ignore his agony,
he looked meekly at her and replied, "Now, hon, why would you say such a
mean thing?"
"Well," she said, "it could be the open
front door, it could be the broken glass at the bottom of the stairs, it
could be the drops of blood trailing through the house, it could be your
bloodshot eyes, but mostly ... it's all those Band-Aids stuck on the
downstairs mirror!"
his drinking buddies. Shoes in left hand to avoid waking his wife, he
tiptoed as quietly as he could toward the stairs leading to their
bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step in the darkened entryway.
As he caught himself by grabbing the banister, his body
swung around and he landed heavily on his rump. A whiskey bottle in each
back pocket broke and made the landing especially painful. Managing to
suppress a yelp, the man sprung up, pulled down his pants, and examined
his lacerated and bleeding cheeks in the mirror of a nearby darkened
hallway, then managed to find a large full box of Band-Aids and
proceeded to place a patch as best he could on each place he saw blood.
After hiding the now almost empty box, he managed to shuffle and stumble
his way to bed. In the morning, the man awoke with searing pain in head
and butt and his wife staring at him from across the room. She said,
"You were drunk again last night." Forcing himself to ignore his agony,
he looked meekly at her and replied, "Now, hon, why would you say such a
mean thing?"
"Well," she said, "it could be the open
front door, it could be the broken glass at the bottom of the stairs, it
could be the drops of blood trailing through the house, it could be your
bloodshot eyes, but mostly ... it's all those Band-Aids stuck on the
downstairs mirror!"
.
