'More tea, Sir Chadwick?'
'Why yes, Mr Hatter. How kind of you.'
'Of course Sir. Here we are, top that off for you...'
'Aughh! There seems to be turds floating in my cup! Has the Dormouse been napping inside the teapot again??'
"Boy!"
I froze. The Hatter looked at me quizzically, holding the teapot.
"Shut the f×ck up."
I reached over and plucked the tea vessel from the Mad Hatter.
Stuck my fingers in and grabbed hold of a tail. I pulled, and the fat rodent came out with a splash.
'Try squeezing your butthole tighter,' I said to it helpfully, my voice lower.
The dormouse mumbled something along the lines of 'Nuffle whoop...' and promptly fell back to sleep. I dropped it back into the teapot with a wet plop and turned to the March Hare.
'Well thank you very kindly but my appetite for tea and crackers has just vanished. I bid you a good day.'
The March hare wiggled ears at me in farewell, while the Hatter straightened his bow tie. 'Remind me toswing that effing rodent over a hedge sometime,' I heard him tell the Hare.
I gathered up the rest of my Saltines and discovered I had to pee. My cracker plate I set down carefully by my dresser before going over to the door. Opening in a crack, I looked down the hall.
Empty. Sounds of a late-nite game show drifted down the picture hung hallway. Someone won and canned applause was heard.
Seemed safe enough.
I beat it down the hallway as quiet as I could and slipped into the bathroom to piss. Bladder empty, I flushed without thinking and it sounded like Wil E. Coyote's backfired TNT.
Wincing, I waited for the screaming. When there was none I twisted open the hot tap and stuck my hands under, adjusting with the cold tap.
Wondering why Dad hadn't caught me out of my room yet, especially with the thunderous toilet flushing, I let curiosity take over, and, instead of going directly back the way I came, I crept down the hall to the living room.
'Family Feud' was just finishing, the ending credit music playing at a lowered level. I could see a few beer cans laying on the floor, but most were on the coffee table... about six altogether. What caught my attention was the bottle they were gathered around with a half empty shot glass near it, like a minister and his son with members of the congregation gathered for supplication.
His armchair was conspicuously silent.
I edged around for a better look well Letterman came on, starting to babble about high school girls and their short skirts.
He'd fallen asleep, mouth hanging slightly open, with one hand grasping the remote on his stomach. I stared at him for a second.
Then I eased the remote away from him and set it on the table, gently. I grabbed an afghan from the loveseat and draped it over him, making sure to tuck in the sides. I went over and pushed the TV off.
He didn't stir, just made a murmuring noise at the back of his throat.
"Sleep tight, Dad." I whispered it softly, retreating to my room to close the door quietly behind me.
