One of the locals, man name o' Jake, came in around 2 a.m., stinkin' drunk, from a poker game with the boys. He knew that he was going to catch hell if his wife found out when he came in -- he figgered he could explain away the hangover as a touch of flu.

Jake quietly closed the door and decided to take off his shoes before he went upstairs. It'd be quieter.

He knew that he'd made a big mistake as soon as he sat down on the step. The empty pint bottle in his back pocket let him know that.

Jake didn't scream. He quietly went into the downstairs bathroom and, with great difficulty, pulled out all of the broken glass and gave himself first aid. He then removed his shoes and managed to get upstairs into bed without awakening his wife.

Next thing he knew was when the bucket of cold mopwater hit him. It was 6:30 and his wife was holding the empty bucket.

"So!" she yelled. "You came in drunk again last night! And don't bother to deny it!!

Jake held his head in both hands. For obvious reasons he'd been sleeping on his back, and now she hit his very sensitive gluteal area with the broom!

With a yell he jumped to his feet, a move that nearly killed him.

"Yes! I came in drunk! I'm sorry! I suffered for it! I sat on an empty bottle! I was drunk! But...but...how did you know?" he stammered.

"Because," she said, "I just looked in the downstairs bathroom and there are bandaids all over the mirror."