The other night I was invited out with the girls. I told my husband I would be home by midnight. Well, the hours passed and the margaritas went down way too easy. At 3am I went home a bit loaded. Just as I walked in the door the cuckoo clock cuckooed 3 times. Quickly, realizing my husband might wake up, I cuckooed another 9 times.
I was really proud of myself with coming up with a solution to be late when totally smashed.
The next morning, my husband asked me what time I got in. I said midnight. He didn't seem mad at all, and I felt like I got away with it.
But then he said we need a new cuckoo clock.
When I asked him, “Why,” he said, “Well last night the clock cuckooed 3 times, then said, 'Oh shit,’ cuckooed 4 more times, cleared it's throat, cuckooed another 3 times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then tripped over the coffee table and farted'
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