On a quiet Sunday evening, Bert and Edna—married for fifty-five years—rock gently on their porch swing, sipping lukewarm tea while squirrels squabble over a stray Cheeto and the sun slips below the horizon.
Out of the blue, Edna breaks the silence.
“Bert, let’s talk bucket lists.”
He looks up, eyebrows raised.
“Bucket lists? Edna, I’m eighty-seven. At my age, the only list I keep is where I left my glasses… and maybe my pants.”
She laughs.
“No, silly. I mean dreams we’ve never dared—things we want to do before we go.”
He strokes his chin.
“Well…
