Over a few pints of beer at the local, two men were so engrossed in conversation that they didn’t notice the time. Suddenly last orders were called and the first man cursed out loud.
“Bugger! That’s me for the cold-shoulder treatment, I promised the wife I’d be home early.”
He looked glumly into his pint and continued, “I just can’t win. Whenever I go out I make sure none of the doors squeak, I oil the garden gate, I move anything I might trip over in the dark and then when I get home, I take my shoes off before going upstairs, undress in the bathroom and slip very quietly into bed in the pitch black. And it never bloody works! She still turns over and shouts, ‘Where have you been until this time of night?'”
“No, mate,” said the second man, “you’re doing it all wrong. When I get home late at night, I swing the garden gate backwards and forwards to make as much squeaking noise as possible. Then I slam the front door, turn on all the lights, and stomp up the stairs into the bedroom. I jump into bed and give the wife a good nudge in the ribs and say, ‘How about it, then, love?’ and you can bet you’ve never seen a woman sleep so deeply.”