The other night I was invited out for a night with the “girls.” I told my husband that I
would be home by midnight,
“I promise!”
Well, the hours passed and the margaritas went down way too easily.
Around 3 a.m., a bit loaded, I headed for home. Just as I got in the door, the cuckoo
clock in the hallway started up and cuckooed 3 times.
Quickly, realising 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, in order to
escape a possible conflict with him.
(Even when totally smashed… 3 cuckoos plus 9 cuckoos totals 12 cuckoos =
MIDNIGHT !)
The next morning my husband asked me what time I got in, I told him “MIDNIGHT”…
he didn’t seem pissed off in the least.
Whew, I 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 sh*t”
Cuckooed 4 more times, cleared its throat, cuckooed another three times, giggled,
twice more, and then tripped over the coffee table and farted.