Boudreaux staggered home very late after another evening with his
drinking buddy, Thibodeaux.
He took off his shoes to avoid waking his wife, Clotile. 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, Boudreaux 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, Boudreaux woke up with searing pain in both his head
and butt and Clotile staring at him from across the room. She said, "You
were drunk again last night weren't you Boudreaux?" Boudreaux said, "Mon
cher, why you say such a mean ting?" "Well," Clotile 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.
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