Love, Laughter, and Late-Life Adventures

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Bert and Edna had spent fifty-five years together, and on this quiet Sunday evening, they sat side by side on their porch swing, watching the world go by. The squirrels were in a heated battle over a stray Cheeto, the birds were singing their evening songs, and the tea in their cups had long since lost its warmth.

Out of nowhere, Edna broke the silence. “Bert,” she said, “we should talk about our bucket lists.”

Bert blinked. “Bucket lists? Edna, at eighty-seven, my only goal is waking up with my pants on the right way.”

Edna rolled her eyes but smiled. “Come on. There must be something you’ve always wanted to do.”

Bert thought for a moment. “Well… I’ve always wanted to try skydiving.”

Edna nearly choked on her tea. “Skydiving? Bert, you blacked out last month reaching for the TV remote!”

He grinned. “Perfect. If I don’t make it, I’ll finally get to haunt Jenkins’ backyard. That old coot deserves a good scare.”

Edna shook her head, laughing. Then her expression turned mischievous—the same look she’d had the day she “accidentally” lost Bert’s prized bowling trophy out the car window decades ago.

“Alright, you go jump out of a plane,” she said. “But I’ve got something to tell you.”

Bert’s grip on his teacup tightened. “What is it?”

Edna leaned closer. “Remember how your recliner always tilted to the left?”

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