The house was eerily quiet, except for the faint creaking of the floorboards and the occasional rustling of the wind against the windows.
Kathleen had gone to bed hours ago, but something was bothering her. She was used to Bob’s late nights, but tonight there was a strange tension in her. Perhaps the faint scent of whiskey lingering in the air or the sound of fumbling footsteps outside woke her from sleep.
Little did she know that the chaos she was about to unleash would be both confusing and comical, leaving her wondering if her husband’s antics were the result of bad luck or sheer drunken mischief.
Bob, on the other hand, was oblivious to the storm brewing above. His only goal was to sneak into the house without waking Kathleen—a mission doomed from the start.
He tripped and fell on his ass as he tiptoed up the stairs so as not to wake his wife, Kathleen.
The landing was particularly unpleasant due to the alcohol bottles in both back pockets.
He screamed, pulled down his pants, and saw the cut and bleeding faces on his ass in the hallway mirror.
She quietly found a box of plasters and applied one to the spot where she noticed the blood.
“You were drunk last night, weren’t you?” Kathleen asked him when he woke up the next morning.
“Why do you think that?” snapped Bob.
“It could have been the broken glass or the blood in the house or your bloodshot eyes,” Kathleen replied.
Kathleen replied.
However, “but mostly,” she said.
“They were plasters on the hall mirror.
Bob stared at Kathleen, confused as the events of the previous night slowly returned to him. His embarrassment was palpable, but Kathleen’s stern expression soon gave way to suppressed laughter. Despite the absurdity of the situation, Bob couldn’t help but laugh when he realized how ridiculous he must have looked trying to bandage the “wounds” on his reflection.
The moment served as a wake-up call for Bob, and although the humor of the incident lingered, he knew he had to rethink his nightly habits. Shaking her head with a mixture of amusement and irritation, Kathleen handed him a cup of coffee and said, “Next time, maybe leave the whiskey – and the Band-Aids – alone.”