"I'm good!" Carl slurred, waving off concerned looks. He took one wobbly step forward, then another backwards. The ground started spinning.
Carl opened both of his arms, desperately trying to balance himself. He staggered backward, first crashing into the patio table. Glasses and plates flying up and hitting the ground.
"Whoa there, buddy!" Clyde called out, but it was too late.
Carl's momentum was carrying him further backwards. He just missed the barbecue grill but crashing into the barbecue grill utensils sending them flying everywhere. One of his hands hitting a flower pot and knocking it over. The other hand knocking off Ms. Jones wig.
Finally, with a loud boom, Carl's back met the side of the house. He slid down the brick wall tearing his shirt and scaring his back leaving a heap of scattered decorations all over the ground.
As the party went silent, Carl looked up at all the concerned faces surrounding him. Realization dawned on him slowly through the haze of alcohol.
Clyde sighed, pulling out his phone. "I'm calling Wanda to come get you."
Carl groaned, humiliation had set it while his friend dialed his wife. He have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow... and a killer hangover to get over.