Cheryl's article about being a designated driver reminded me of the old, old, joke about the alcoholic.

Fred was a good honest hard-working farmer everyone in the community admired.

If he had any undesirable traits, it would have been his drinking.

Every Saturday night Fred would ride Bessie, his plow horse, into town to the local tavern where he proceeded to spend the next several hours gambling and getting loaded.  Eventually, around 4 am, he would let Bessie carry him home, where he would stagger into the house and vomit into the kitchen sink!

Every Sunday he would sleep in while Norma his wife went to church.

Norma would come home from church and tell Fred: "If you don't stop your drinking, one of these days you are going to puke your guts out!"

This went on for several years.

One saturday night, Norma was cleaning a chicken for Sunday dinner, and forgot and left the entrails in the kitchen sink.

Sunday morning early when she arose at 5am, she found Fred sitting at the kitchen table staring off into space, with a very 'green' look on his face.

"Fred, what's wrong?"

"You were right, but it's OK now!"

"Right about what?"

"This time I DID puke my guts up, but with the grace of God and a fork, I got them all back down!!"