On a quiet Sunday evening, Bert and Edna—married fifty-five years—rock gently on their porch swing, sipping lukewarm tea while squirrels squabble over a rogue Cheeto. The sun dips low, casting golden light across their yard. Then, out of nowhere, Edna breaks the silence. “Bert, let’s talk bucket lists.”He peers over his glasses “Bucket lists? Edna, I’m eighty-seven. My biggest ambition is remembering where I left my pants.

She chuckles.

“No, silly. I mean dreams we’ve never dared. Things we want to do before we go.”

Bert strokes his chin.

“Well… I’ve always wanted to skydive.”

Edna’s eyes widen.

“You? You nearly faint tying your shoes!”

He grins.

“Imagine me landing in the neighbor’s garden. I’ve always wanted to haunt him.”

They laugh. Edna nods.

“Fine. You skydive. I’ll do mine.”

Bert squints.

“And what’s yours?”

That mischievous sparkle returns.

“Remember your recliner that leaned left for twenty years?”

He nods, still blaming the dog.

“After you spilled grape soda on my new curtains in ’89, I jammed a spatula under one leg.”

Bert gasps.

“You monster!”

She sips her tea.

“And the remote that only played Hallmark movies? I stuck a penny in the battery compartment.”

“Why?”

“Because nothing says revenge like five years of slow-motion snowball fights and mistletoe drama.”

Bert leans back, smirking.

“Alright, confession time. You know my Saturday ‘fishing trips’?”

Edna raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t fish.”

“Exactly. I was bowling. I won four trophies—hidden behind the water heater in the basement.”

They both burst into laughter, remembering the time she tossed his “trophies” out the car window during a spat in 1965.

Weeks later, Edna replaces the sabotaged recliner, and Bert goes skydiving—landing triumphantly in the neighbor’s yard. Every Saturday, they bowl together, not just for the game, but for the joy of shared mischief and love.

Years pass. One day, tragedy strikes—a car accident takes them both. At the Pearly Gates, St. Peter greets them with a smile and a tour of their heavenly home: gourmet kitchen, Jacuzzi, championship golf course, and a five-star buffet.

“Everything’s free,” he says. “Eat, drink, play—no limits.”

Bert’s face falls.

“So… no low-fat, low-cholesterol options?”

St. Peter laughs.

“No need. You won’t get sick or gain weight here.”

Bert turns to Edna, mock-serious.

“This is your fault! If you hadn’t made me eat kale-chicken muffins and bran cereal for fifty years, we’d still be alive!”

Edna just shakes her head, laughing.

“Oh, Bert. Even in heaven, you’re the grumpiest man I’ve ever loved.”

And with that, they wander off—hand in hand—ready to rock that pearly porch swing forever.

 Because love isn’t just about grand gestures. It’s about spatulas under recliners, secret bowling trophies, and laughing your way through eternity.