Paddy staggered home very late after another night of drinking with friends, Murphy. He took off the shoes to avoid waking his wife, Kathleen.
He tiptoed as quietly as he could on the stairs leading to their upstairs bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step. As he caught himself by grabbing the banister, his body turned and he landed hard on his butt. A whiskey bottle in each back pocket and broke the landing especially painful.
Managing not to yell, Paddy out, pulled down his pants and looked in the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and bleeding. He manages to find a full box of Band-Aids and began quietly putting 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 I woke up with searing pain in her head and Paddy and Kathleen butt staring at him from across the room.
She said: "You were drunk again last night are not you?"
Paddy said: "Why say such a thing mean?"
"Well," Kathleen said, "it could open the door, it could be broken glass under the stairs, it could be drops of blood trailing through the house, it could be your bloodshot eyes, but ..... almost all of the Band-Aids stuck on the glass hall.