buddy, Paddy. He took off his shoes to avoid waking his wife, Kathleen.
He tiptoed as quietly as he could toward the stairs leading to their
upstairs bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step. 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 not to yell, Patton sprung up, pulled down his pants, and
looked in the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and
bleeding. He managed to quietly find a full box of Band-Aids and began
putting a Band-Aid as best he could on each place he saw blood.
He then hid the now almost empty Band-Aid box and shuffled and stumbled
his way to bed.
In the morning, Patton woke up with searing pain in both his head and
butt and Kathleen staring at him from across the room.
She said, 'You were drunk again last night weren't you?'
Patton said, 'Why you say such a mean thing?'
'Well,' Kathleen 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 hall mirror.
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