The other night I was invited out for a “Ladies night” and I promised my husband that I’d be home by midnight.
Well, the hours passed and the margaritas went down way too easy. Around 3 a.m., a bit loaded, I headed for home.
Just as I got in the door, the cuckoo clock in the hall started up and cuckooed 3 times.
Quickly, realizing my husband would probably wake up, I cuckooed another 9 times.
I was really proud of myself for coming up with such a quick-witted solution (even when totally smashed), in order to escape a possible conflict with him.
The next morning my husband asked me what time I got in, and I told him “Midnight”. He didn’t seem pissed off at all.
Whew! Got away with that one!
Then he said, “We need a new cuckoo clock.”
When I asked him why, he said, “Well, last night our clock cuckooed three times, then said, “Oh shit.”, cuckooed four more times, cleared it’s throat, cuckooed another three times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then tripped over the coffee table and farted.”
