My mom had come downstairs to fix some supper. An audible gasp was heard throughout the neighborhood. “Jerry, what in the world? Are you okay?”
“Sure, what’s up?” my dad responded as he sipped on his Coors lite watching a basketball game on tv.
“Well, your head is bleeding.” Mom replied.
Curious, dad paused and then shook off, “Oh, must have been from the fall.”
Dad played tennis every Monday evening with a few of his friends. This weekly ritual among friends was mostly an excuse to drink beer and hangout, somewhat veiled as routine exercise (though tennis can be rigorous)
On this particular evening, upon being dropped off by that night’s DD, dad may have had one too many Coors lites. He misgauged his steps on the back porch, slipped and banged his head on the casing of the back door. Obviously he inadvertently assumed he had banged his head rather than gashed his head, and proceeded to open a final beer to settle in for the evening…