"I promise!"
Well, the hours passed and the margaritas went down way too easily.
Around 3 a.m., a bit loaded, I headed for home.
Just as I got in the door, the cuckoo clock in the hallway started up and cuckoo'ed three times.
Quickly, realizing my husband would probably be awake, I cuckoo'ed another nine times, so that he would think it was 12 cuckoos -- or just midnight.
I was really proud of myself for coming up with such a quick-witted solution in order to escape a possible conflict with them.
The next morning, my husband asked me what time I got in and I told him, "Midnight!"
He didn't seem pissed in the least.
I had gotten away with it, I thought.
Then he said, "We need a new cuckoo clock."
When I asked him why, he then said, "Well last night our cuckoo clock cuckoo'ed three times, then said `oh shit,' cuckoo'ed four more times, then cleared its throat, cuckoo'ed another three times, giggled, cuckoo'ed twice more and then tripped over the coffee table and farted."
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