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, cuckooed twice more, and then tripped over the coffee table and farted.
