Just after I got married, I was invited for a night out with the boys.
As much as my new wife pleased with me to stay in with her, to snuggle up on the couch and watch television, the thought of a raucous night drinking with my best buddies was too good to miss.
So, I told my wife that “I would be home by midnight…. I promise!!” I gave her a kiss, and off I went to meet my buddies at one of our favorite watering holes.
Well, the yarns were being spun, the beer was going down really easy, and I guess as so often happens I lost track of time.
The next think I knew, it was around 3am, and there I was, drunk as a skunk. I was rat-assed, I was legless, I was virtually paralytic, I was all of the phrases that you could use to describe someone who had rather a few drinks too many, and I was well the worse for wear as a result.
So, we all went off in our separate directions, and I staggered off home.
Just as I got in the door, having struggled for like what seemed like an eternity to find my keys, and then to get the key into the lock, the cuckoo clock in the hallway started to sound, and it cuckoo-ed 3 times.
Realizing that the sound of the cuckoo clock would most likely cause my wife to wake up, I cuckoo-ed another nine times to try and make her think that it was only midnight.
I was really proud of myself for having come up with this quick witted plan, even when I was virtually paralytic, and hoped that I had managed to escape a possible conflict with my other half.
Well, the next morning my bride asked me what time I got in.
So I told her “12 o’clock.”
“Whew!” I thought to myself, you got away with that one!
She then told me that we needed a new cuckoo clock.
When I asked her why she said, “Well, last night it cuckoo-ed three times, said ‘Damn it,’ cuckoo-ed another four times, passed gas, cuckoo-ed another three times, cleared its throat, and cuckoo-ed twice and giggled.”