“I’ll have two egg tacos with bacon,” I told the lady at my favorite local food stand.
I sat at the big picnic table and waited for Mario, my sometimes handyman, to arrive. When he finally came limping up, I barely recognized him.
“Mario! What happened to you?”
“I had a rough night, Mr. Dennis,” he said, showing me one hand in a cast and three fingers of the other hand bound in bandages.
“What happened?”
“I met this lady last night and we ended up at her place. We was on the couch and then we go to the bedroom. All of a sudden there’s a noise and she says, ‘Oh, no! It’s my husband.’ I jumped for the closet and I’m naked. Pretty soon I hear him say, ‘For who is these clothes on this couch?’ and then all hell busts loose.” He’s chasing his old lady around and then he stops and says, ‘Wait a minute. Whoever it is didn’t go off and leave his clothes.’”
“Uh-oh.”
“Meantime, I crawl out the window and hang by my fingertips in hopes he don’t find me but he does. He starts hammering on my hands. Then he slams the window down on them and they end up like this.”
He held up his bandaged hands and I asked, “What happened next?
“Somebody called the police about a naked man kickin’ up a fuss and the police come and haul me to jail.”
“What a horrible night,” I said.
“Oh, that’s not the worst part,” Mario told me. “When the constable arrested me I found out I was hanging just two inches above the ground.”
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