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!" were my last words.
Well, the hours passed and the margaritas went down way too easy. Around 3:00 a.m. and a bit loaded, we piled into a cab and headed for our respective homes. Just as I got through the door, the cuckoo clock in the hall started up and cuckooed 3 times.
Realizing my husband would probably wake up, I quickly cuckooed another 9 times. I was particularly proud of myself for coming up with such a quick-witted solution to cover my tardiness. (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, and I told him midnight. He didn't raise an eyebrow or anything and continued to read the morning paper. Whew! Got away with that one!
Then he said, "I think we might need a new cuckooclock."
When I asked him why, he said, "Well, last night our clock cuckooed three times, then said, "Oh, shit," cuckooed 4 more times, cleared its throat, cuckooed another 3 times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, then tripped over the coffee table and farted
