My late grandfather was a tiler.
Honest. Hardworking. Occasionally drunk.
Today I remembered this one time when he was helping my father tile the kitchen in our apartment. In all my three-year-old wisdom, I played with a pair of pliers and a hammer. You do the math. I just stood there, petrified, red-faced, mouth agape, going off like an air raid siren.
"Here. Soak your boo-boo in rakia."
Took me only nineteen years to get the pun.