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 and 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 three times. Quickly, realizing my husband would probably
wake up, I cuckooed another nine 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, three cuckoos plus nine 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 of! f in th e 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**.' Cuckooed four more times, cleared its throat,
cuckooed another three times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then
tripped over the coffee table and farted.
