The Sad Realization

When I was at Mr M's Sunday, I noticed a small, um, commotion on his kitchen floor. It was a white caked on substance over by the end of his table. Almost like a big white decoupage. Being the good guest, I said nothing.

Later that night when we were talking on Messenger, I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to ask.

"What was that big white spot on your kitchen floor today?" I asked.

"It's napkins and paper towels I couldn't unstick from the floor after cleaning up the spill," came the reply.

(long pause)

"Oh. Shit!"

(more pause)

"I was the spiller, wasn't I?"

"Yup," came the reply.

And with that three letter answer, all the condemnation of life came down upon me. I started to vaguely remember my sins. A collection of plastic cups holding Jaegermeister, Goldschlager, and Champagne - three of the stickier liquors out there - and my lumbering arm taking out the whole collection in one fell swoop. Not only did I get sworpin' drunk on New Year's Eve, but I was a damn spilling drunk as well!

Oh, Lord, forgive me.

At least I wasn't a crying drunk. I don't think, anyway.