Courtesy of David R.
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 upstairs 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
before proceeding to place a patch as best he could on each place he saw
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
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!"