Bert and Edna, an elderly couple, sit together on their porch swing on a quiet Sunday evening.
They have been married for 55 years.
They sip lukewarm tea, watch squirrels fight over a Cheeto in the yard, and listen to birds singing as the sun sets.
Edna suddenly sighs. “Bert, let’s talk about our bucket lists.”
Bert frowns.
“Bucket lists? I’m 87, Edna. The only thing on my list is waking up tomorrow and remembering where I put my pants.”
Edna laughs. “No, I’m serious. We should each do something we’ve always wanted to try before it’s too late.”
Bert thinks for a moment. “All right. I’ve always wanted to go skydiving.”
Edna’s eyes widen. “Skydiving? Bert, the last time you bent down to tie your shoe, you fainted for three minutes.”
Bert shrugs. “Fine. But if I land in the neighbor’s yard, I’ll finally get to haunt him. I’ve wanted to for years.”
Edna nods, smiling. “Okay. You do that. I’ll do mine.”
Bert squints. “And what’s yours?”
A mischievous glint flashes in Edna’s eyes—the same one she had in 1965 when she “accidentally” dropped his bowling trophy out of the car window during an argument.
“I’ve wanted to tell you something for a long time, Bert.”
Bert gulps. “Tell me what?”
“You remember how your favorite recliner leaned to the left for 20 years?” she asks, leaning closer.
Bert nods. “I blamed the dog. Poor thing limped for weeks.”
Edna grins. “It was me. After you spilled grape soda on my new curtains in 1989, I stuck a spatula in the bottom of the chair.”
Bert stares at her. “You monster!”
Edna laughs. “And remember when the TV remote would only switch to the Hallmark Channel no matter what button you pressed?”
Bert blinks. “You told me it was haunted.”
Edna shakes her head. “No. I put a dime inside the battery compartment to short it out. You watched Christmas romance movies for five years straight.”
Bert gapes. “Why would you do that?”
Edna takes a slow sip of tea. “Because mistletoe and slow-motion snowball fights are the perfect revenge, dear.”
After a long pause, Bert leans back. “Well, Edna, I have a confession too.”
“Oh?” she says.
“Remember how I used to go fishing every Saturday for ten years?”
Edna narrows her eyes. “You don’t fish.”
Bert grins. “I know. I was at the bowling alley. I won four trophies and hid them behind the water heater.”
Edna stares. “So I accidentally threw away a fake trophy?”
They both burst out laughing.
After that day, Edna bought a new recliner, Bert went skydiving, and they bowled together every Saturday—for safety.
Years later, at ages 85 and 87, the couple passed away in a car accident, just shy of their 60th anniversary, before meeting again at the Pearly Gates.