The other night I was invited out for a night with “the girls.“ I promised my husband that I would 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 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, and I 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.“