Frank staggered home very late after another evening with his drinking buddy,
Anker. He took off his shoes to avoid waking his wife.

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, Frank 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 Band-Aid box and shuffled and stumbled his
way to bed.

In the morning, Frank woke up with searing pain in both his head and butt and
his wife staring at him from across the room.

She said, "You were drunk again last night weren't you?"

Frank said, "Why would you say such a mean thing?"

"Well," she 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 hall mirror.

Surely there can't be another -anker in Melbourne who would lead Frank astray ?

-anker attached the following image(s):