Two drinking buddies made a night of it.
As they closed the last bar in town, one admitted to the other:
“God, I hate getting in at this hour. All I want to do is take my shoes off and crawl into bed, but Marge always wakes up and nags the shit out of me for what seems like hours.”
“Sneaking’s not the way to do it,” said his buddy conspiratorially as they staggered arm in arm down the sidewalk.
“Try slamming the front door, stomping upstairs, and yelling:
‘Hey, baby, let’s make love.’
My wife always pretends she’s sound asleep.”