Bert and Edna’s marriage had survived tantrums, spilled grape soda, and a “haunted” TV remote. But nothing prepared them for the confessions that came out on the porch swing that night.
It started innocently enough.
“Bert,” Edna said, “what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do?”
Bert scratched his head. “Besides remember where I left my teeth?”
Edna laughed. “I’m serious. Bucket lists, Bert.”
Bert thought hard. “Skydiving.”
Edna nearly spit out her tea. “You can’t even ride a rocking chair without getting motion sickness!”
But Bert was determined. “If I go splat, at least I’ll give the grandkids a good story.”
Then Edna dropped her bombshell.
“Bert, remember how your recliner was crooked for twenty years?”
Bert nodded. “I still feel bad for blaming the dog.”
Edna smirked. “That was me. Payback for the soda stain.”
Bert’s jaw dropped. “You warped my chair?!”
Edna shrugged. “And the TV remote? That wasn’t ghosts, Bert. That was pure spite.”
Bert stared at her, then burst out laughing. “Well, guess what? Those fishing trips? Bowling tournaments. I’ve got trophies hidden in the basement.”
Edna gasped. “So the trophy I threw out the window—”
“Was a decoy,” Bert finished, grinning.
They spent the rest of the evening laughing, planning Bert’s skydiving adventure, and—finally—buying a recliner that didn’t lean.
Some secrets are better shared after fifty-five years.
