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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 3am, a bit blitzed, I headed for home.
Just as I got in the door, the cuckoo clock in the hall started up and cuckooed three times.
Quickly realising 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 (even when totally smashed), in order to escape a possible conflict with my husband.
The next morning my husband asked me what time I got in, and I told him midnight. He didn’t seem disturbed at all.
Phew!
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 dear me”, cuckooed four more times, cleared its throat, cuckooed another three times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then tripped over the cat, and broke wind.”
