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Boudreaux
> & Band-Aids (that's pronounced BOO-dro, for
> y'all not familiar with
>
> Louisiana ) 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 Bbroken 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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