After deciding I’d had enough to drink last night, I opened my fridge and made myself a HUGE Thanksgiving plate to bring into bed with me — turkey, stuffing, gravy, the works. Not just a little gravy, mind you. I was absolutely hammered and thinking to myself “turkey gets dry, so does stuffing. I should drizzle this with a shitload of gravy to compensate for that.” I did, and then I began walking up the stairs to the bedroom.

What I didn’t notice was Charlie lying down on the fifth step, camouflaged by darkness.

I fell forward, sending me careening chest-first into my meal like a banana cream pie into the face of an old comedian. While the plate didn’t shatter, the impact sent what was essentially a scalding hot gravy jacuzzi cascading all over my jeans, (white) sweatshirt, down vest, face, shoes and even in my hair. The cat scurried away and hissed at me from the bottom of the stairs.

Written by Mike