Some things you just have to share...

My dad is famous, and infamous, for many things in our family, and when he drinks he always does something that falls in one or both of these categories. For this particular story, I'm not exactly sure which it is.

We'll start off with this: My dad is allergic to red wine. This allergy manifests itself in the most impressive sneezes you have ever heard. One can stand across the road outside my house and still hear him sneeze after he's had about two glasses (this has been tested). It's really quite a feat. But tonight, he topped even that.

Here are the factors. 

· Half a bottle of red wine (consumed by the party in question)

· A linoleum bathroom floor (stood on by the party in question)

· Socks (worn by... oh you get the idea)

· Gravity and Inertia

If you can see where this is going, I'm glad. But shut up and listen anyway.  I'm sitting in my room (which is, coincidentally, right next to the bathroom. The walls are thin enough that I can hear people pee, which is weird, but I'm used to it) innocently chatting on aim, y'know, what you do. I hear my dad sneeze his way up the stairs and into the bathroom for his shower. I write this off and continue about my business... until I hear the most massive sneeze I have ever heard accompanied closely by the sounds of slipping and a gigantic BOOM. I rush to the bathroom, to confirm the inevitable. My dad was peeing, sneezed, and literally knocked himself off his feet by the power of his own sneeze, propelling him backwards onto a shower stool and thence, onto the floor.

As I entered the bathroom my dad started to insist "I'm fine I'm FINE" and refused to be helped onto his feet by me or my sister.  Yet he couldn't actually get up until my mom walked in as well and started trying to help him (I guess three women all trying to help him do something physical was just too much abuse for his manly psyche). My mom and sister must have busy watching him for signs of a cracked vertebra or tailbone (or continued stupidity), as only I noticed the gigantic, bruised abrasions gently leaking blood on the meaty part of his back (presumably where he hit the bathroom stool)... which he refused to show anyone after I attempted to point it out, resorting to backing himself into a corner and telling us to fuck off.

Anyway, the amusement pretty much ends there (except for my dad's extremely girlish squeals as my mom attempted to apply hydrogen peroxide to his wounds: "IT'S COLDIT'SCOLDIT'SCOLD make it WARM not COLD aaaahhh!") and I'm left giggling at my dad's injuries. Which I feel perfectly justified in doing, because if he refuses to acknowledge they exist I have every right to laugh at him. Also, he blamed me and my sister for the accident, by claiming we keep putting conditioner on the floor... because I mean, we always make sure to get out of the shower and stand in front of the toilet as we wash our hair. And condition the floor while we do it. It just makes it so shiny!

Actually, we actually have no conditioner in the house. Haha, Oh, father.

He's just currently taking his shower (and cursing).

I really hope this never happens to me, or I'll feel pretty stupid.