Another line that has never gotten a guy out of trouble with his wife: “Hey, at least I’m not a werewolf.”

Gather, friends, and hear the tale
Of Bisclavret’s younger brother, Dale
Who, like his brother, every week
Would from his home furtively sneak
And vanish for three days and nights
His wife was all: “Man, that ain’t right”
One day her mom was like: “I bet
He’s part wolf-man, like Bisclavret!
Confront him! Or just check to see
If he lifts up his leg to pee!”
And so, the next time Dale returned
His wife said “hubby, I’m concerned.
For days each week you disappear
Where do you go when you’re not here?
You come home filthy, caked in mud—
Do your veins run with canine blood?
Are you, Dale, a lycanthrope?”
To this, Dale answered, simply, “nope.”
“Okay then, Dale,” she said “explain!
Why can you not at home remain?”
Dale took his wife by her fair hand
He knew she wouldn’t understand
She’d prob’ly want to kill him dead!
But Dale took a deep breath and said:
“I’ve been deep in the woods, alack,
Consorting with D’Ontspille le Black.”
“D’Ontspille le Black!?” his wife exclaimed,
“Who’s that? I’ve never heard that name!
Are you out having some cheap fling?
Is this some ‘Brokeback Mountain’ thing?”
“A what thing? No!” a shocked Dale said
“What put that notion in your head?
It’s nothing, dear along those lines—
D’Ontspille le Black’s a type of wine!
A fruity, velvet pinot noir!
Delicious, too, like pinots are!”
At that, Dale’s wife just stood and stared
He fidgeted; she seethed and glared
“So let me get this straight,” said she,
“And if I’m wrong, please correct me—
The three days every week you’re gone
It’s just a bender that you’re on?”
“That’s it!” Dale laughed, “see? No big whoop!
To think, you worked yourself all up!
Thinking me some were-beastie!
You owe me an apology!
It’s utterly ridiculous!
Over this you make a fuss?
Think, me, howling at the moon!”
They got divorced that afternoon.

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