He snuck up the stairs as quietly as he could. He looked in the bathroom mirror and bandaged the couple of bumps and bruises he’d received in a fight earlier that night. He was a little drunk, but nobody had to know. He proceeded to climb into bed, smiling at the thought that he’d pulled one over on his wife. When morning came, he opened his eyes and there stood his wife. “You were drunk last night weren’t you!” “What? What do you mean?” He replied. “How could you think such a thing?” “Well, if you weren’t drunk, my dear,” his wife pointed in the direction of the bathroom, “why are there bruises on your face and a bunch of band-aids on the bathroom mirror?”