I've pinched so much from Archie's Archive, I was determined to find my own material for a while, so when I saw this story last night I giggled but tied my blogging fingers together. But this morning I'm still giggling so, with a low curtsey to Archie...
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. Just before 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 (even when totally smashed), in order to escape a possible conflict with him.
The next morning my husband asked me what time I got in and I told 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 its throat, cuckooed another three times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then tripped over the coffee table and farted.