An elderly couple, Bert and Edna, sat together on their porch swing one quiet Sunday evening.
They’d been married for fifty-five years — long enough to know each other’s sighs, sneezes, and snack habits by heart. The sun was setting, birds were chirping, and the two of them were sipping lukewarm tea, watching squirrels fight over a Cheeto in the yard.
Out of the blue, Edna sighed and said, “Bert, let’s talk about our bucket lists.”
Bert raised an eyebrow. “Bucket lists? Edna, I’m eighty-seven. My list is down to ‘wake up tomorrow and remember where I put my pants.’”
Edna chuckled. “No, I’m serious. Before we go, we should each do something we’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance.”
Bert thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. “Alright, fine. I’ve always wanted to go skydiving.”
Edna’s eyes widened. “Skydiving?! Bert, the last time you bent down to tie your shoe, you passed out for three minutes.”
Bert shrugged. “Well, if I die mid-air, just let me land in the neighbor’s garden. I’ve always wanted to haunt him anyway.”
They both laughed.
Edna nodded approvingly. “Okay, okay. You go skydiving. I’ll do mine too.”
Bert squinted suspiciously. “And what’s yours?”
Edna suddenly got that mischievous sparkle in her eye — the same one she had back in 1965 when she ‘accidentally’ dropped Bert’s bowling trophy out the car window during an argument.
“I’ve always wanted to confess something to you, Bert.”
Bert gulped. “Confess what?”
Edna leaned closer and whispered, “You know how your favorite recliner always mysteriously leaned to the left for twenty years?”
Bert nodded. “Yeah, blamed the dog. Poor thing limped for weeks.”
Edna smiled. “Well, it was me. I jammed a spatula in the bottom after you spilled grape soda on my new curtains in ’89.”
Bert gasped. “You monster!”
Edna giggled. “And remember that time the remote kept changing the channel to the Hallmark channel no matter what button you pressed?”
Bert blinked. “You said it was haunted!”
Edna smirked. “Nope. I glued a penny inside the battery compartment to short-circuit it. You never missed a single Christmas romance movie for five straight years.”
Bert’s mouth dropped open. “Why would you do that?!”
Edna sipped her tea, serene. “Because payback, dear, is best served with mistletoe and slow-motion snowball fights.”
After a long pause, Bert leaned back in the swing and said, “You know what, Edna? I’ve got a confession too.”
Bert’s Turn
Edna tilted her head. “Oh, this should be good. Go ahead, old man. Shock me.”
Bert took a deep breath. “Remember your little garden gnome collection — the one you thought kept mysteriously ‘disappearing’ every spring?”
Edna narrowed her eyes. “You mean the ones that vanished after you mowed the lawn too fast?”
Bert coughed. “Yeah… about that. I didn’t accidentally hit them. I—uh—sold a few to Frank down the street for fishing money.”
Edna’s jaw dropped. “You SOLD my gnomes?”
He nodded sheepishly. “Frank said they made great decoys. The fish liked the colors.”
Edna crossed her arms. “So you’re telling me you committed gnome trafficking to buy bait worms?”
Bert chuckled nervously. “In my defense, you bought twenty of those creepy things. They watched me sleep, Edna. One of them winked at me.”
Edna sighed dramatically. “I can’t believe I’ve been married to a gnome smuggler for half a century.”
They both broke into laughter, rocking gently in the swing as the porch light flickered on.
The Confession War Continues
After a moment of silence, Edna grinned. “Alright, Bert. You asked for it. Remember our 25th anniversary trip to Niagara Falls?”
“How could I forget?” he said proudly. “You said it was the most romantic vacation ever.”
She nodded slowly. “Do you remember your favorite photo from that trip — the one where you said your hair looked amazing?”
Bert nodded, smiling. “Still got it framed on my dresser.”
Edna bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Bert… that wasn’t your hair.”
He blinked. “Come again?”
“I accidentally glued your hairpiece on backward that morning. The wind just did the rest. That ‘amazing’ hair? It was facing east while you were facing west.”
Bert’s eyes went wide. “You mean to tell me that for thirty years, I’ve been bragging about a photo where my hair’s trying to escape my head?!”
Edna burst out laughing so hard she nearly spilled her tea.
Love, Laughter, and a Little Revenge
They sat there, laughing until their sides hurt. When the laughter finally faded, Edna wiped her eyes and said softly, “You know, Bert… maybe our bucket list is just this — sitting here, confessing all our little secrets before we’re too old to remember them.”
Bert nodded, smiling gently. “Maybe you’re right. Though I’ll still need to skydive… just so I can say I’ve done something more exciting than watching Hallmark movies against my will.”
Edna chuckled. “Fine. You jump out of a plane, and I’ll finally replace your stolen gnomes. Deal?”
“Deal,” Bert said, extending his hand.
They shook on it, their wrinkled fingers intertwining, the porch swing creaking beneath them — two souls who had survived love, laughter, and fifty-five years of ridiculous confessions.
As the sun dipped below the trees, Bert looked at her with a smirk and added one last confession.
“Oh, and Edna… that time your fruitcake went missing in 1994?”
She squinted. “You told me raccoons got it.”
Bert grinned. “Nope. I buried it. It cracked the shovel.”
Edna stared at him, mouth agape — then started laughing so hard she nearly spilled her tea again.
The Moral of the Story
When you’ve spent over five decades with someone, you learn that love isn’t about being perfect. It’s about laughing through the imperfections — the glued remotes, the sold gnomes, the backward hairpieces, and even the buried fruitcakes.
Because, at the end of the day, the best kind of love is the one that makes you laugh until your dentures nearly fall out.
And as the stars came out and the porch swing rocked gently in the breeze, Bert reached for Edna’s hand and whispered, “You know, Edna… I wouldn’t trade our confessions for all the skydives in the world.”
Edna smiled, squeezing his hand. “Good. Because after all that, you’re not jumping out of anything higher than this porch.”
They both laughed — and somewhere in the distance, a squirrel squeaked, still fighting for that last Cheeto.
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