On a quiet Sunday evening, Bert and Edna, married 55 years, rocked on their porch swing with lukewarm tea. “Let’s talk bucket lists,” Edna said. “Mine’s simple—remember where I put my pants,” Bert joked. Then, after some thought: “Skydiving.” Edna scoffed. “You faint tying your shoes.” She chose her own “goal”: confessing mischief. She admitted sabotaging his recliner with a spatula after he ruined her curtains and rigging the TV remote so it always landed on the Hallmark channel.
Bert confessed too—his “fishing trips” were bowling sessions, trophies hidden in the basement. Edna realized she’d once tossed out a fake award. They laughed, bought a new recliner, went skydiving, and bowled together every Saturday. Years later, they died in a car accident and reached heaven, where St. Peter showed them a dream home, free golf, and an endless buffet.
“Any low-fat options?” Bert asked. “No need—no sickness or weight gain here,” St. Peter said. Bert turned to Edna, furious. “If it weren’t for your paleo chicken and bran muffins, we could’ve been here years ago!”
