The other night, I went out with the girls and told my husband, “I’ll be home by midnight, promise!”
But one margarita turned into… well, several. Before I knew it, it was 3 A.M., and I stumbled home, a little tipsy.
The moment I walked in, the hallway cuckoo clock struck three times. Thinking quickly, I added nine more “cuckoos” myself, proud of my clever way to fake midnight. (After all, 3 + 9 = 12!)
The next morning, my husband casually asked what time I got in. “Midnight,” I said confidently. He didn’t seem upset—success!
Then he added, “We might need a new cuckoo clock.”
When I asked why, he said, “Because last night it cuckooed three times, said ‘oh crap,’ cuckooed four more times, cleared its throat, cuckooed another three, giggled, cuckooed twice more… then tripped over the coffee table and farted.”
