.
.
Murphy staggered home very late after another evening with his drinking
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, Murphy sprung up, pulled down his pants, and looked
in the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and bleeding. He did
manage 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, Murphy 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?"

Murphy replied, "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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