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 easy. Around 3 a.m.,
a bit worse for wear, I headed for home. Just as I got in the door, the
cuckoo clock in the hall started up and cuckooed 3 times.
Quickly, realizing 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, and I told him
“Midnight”. He didn’t seem concerned 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 Crap.”, cuckooed 4 more times, cleared its
throat, cuckooed another 3 times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then
tripped over the coffee table and farted.
