Benny was indignant.
His mother had harangued him about the mess in his bedroom.
“You’re a slob” his mother chastised. “I’m raising a pig!” she’d lament.
Benny meant to straighten up a bit, but when she went haywire like that he put on this hard-ass front and became belligerent with his female parental unit.
“I’M NOT A PIG!” he’d shout back.
And with that, Benny grabbed a bottle of ginger ale and went to the cellar to watch some television. He propped pillows up so he would be comfortable. A TV tray was pulled closer to the edge of the couch so he’d have somewhere to put his bowl of nachos and his container of soda. Benny pointed the remote control at the television and leaned back.
“Now, this is more like it” he said, stretching his arms out and sinking into the cushion further.
Benny’s arm came a bit too close to the table, catching the bottle and toppling it to the carpet. The amber liquid glugged rapidly, emptying onto the Berber.
“Shit!” he said “She’s gonna clobber me!”
He put the pillows back and turned the television off. Benny folded the tray table and sneaked back up to his room. When his mother found him diligently cleaning the dirty clothes from his floor, she felt vindicated. Finally, she thought she had gotten through to her son.
It would be another week before Benny’s mother would discover the sticky spot on the basement rug left there by her porcine progeny.