Brenda O’Malley is home as usual, making dinner, when Tim
Finnegan arrives at her door.

“Brenda, may I come in?” he asks. “I’ve
somethin’ to tell ya.”

“Of course you can come in, you’re always welcome, Tim. But
where’s my husband?”

“That’s what I’m here to be tellin’ ya, Brenda. There was an
accident down at the Guinness brewery…”

“Oh, God no!” cries Brenda. “Please don’t tell me…”

“I must, Brenda. Your husband Mick is dead and gone. I’m
sorry.”

Brenda reached a hand out to her side, found the arm of the
rocking chair by the fireplace, pulled the chair to her and collapsed
into it. She wept for many minutes. Finally she looked up at Tim. “How
did it happen, Tim?”

“It was terrible, Brenda. He fell into a vat of Guinness Stout
and drowned.”

“Oh my dear Jesus! But you must tell me true, Tim. Did he at
least go quickly?”

“Well, no Brenda … no.”

“No?”

“Fact is, he got out three times to pee.”