LaBeaver staggered home very late after another evening
with his drinking buddy, Raygun at the Dumb Town Inn.
He took off his shoes 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.
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, LaBeaver 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
box and shuffled and stumbled his way to bed.
In the morning, LaBeaver woke up with searing pain in both
his head and butt and his wife staring at him from across the room.
She said, "You were drunk again last night weren't you LaBeaver?"
LaBeaver said, "Mon cher, why 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,
it's all those Band-Aids stuck on the downstairs mirror.