JOKE OF THE DAY: An elderly couple, Bert and Edna, are sitting on the porch swing one quiet Sunday evening. They’ve been married for 55 years. The sun is setting, the birds are chirping, and they’re both sipping lukewarm tea, watching squirrels fight over a Cheeto in the yard. Out of the blue, Edna sighs and says, “Bert, let’s talk about our bucket lists.” Bert raises an eyebrow. “Bucket lists? Edna, I’m 87. My list is down to ‘wake up tomorrow and remember where I put my pants.’” Edna chuckles. “No, I’m serious. Before we go, we should each do something we’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance.” Bert thinks for a moment. “Alright, fine. I’ve always wanted to go skydiving.” Edna’s eyes widen. “Skydiving?! Bert, the last time you bent down to tie your shoe, you passed out for three minutes.” Bert shrugs. “Well, if I die mid-air, just let me land in the neighbor’s garden. I’ve always wanted to haunt him.” They laugh, and Edna nods. “Okay, okay. You go skydiving. I’ll do mine too.” Bert squints. “And what’s yours?” Edna suddenly gets this mischievous sparkle in her eye — the same one she had back in 1965 when she “accidentally” dropped Bert’s bowling trophy out the car window during an argument. “I’ve always wanted to confess something to you, Bert.” Bert gulps. “Confess what?” Edna leans closer and whispers, “You know how your favorite recliner always mysteriously leaned to the left for 20 years?” Bert nods. “Yeah, blamed the dog. Poor thing limped for weeks.” Edna smiles. “Well, it was me. I jammed a spatula in the bottom after you spilled grape soda on my new curtains in ’89.” Bert gasps. “You monster!” Edna giggles. “And remember that time the remote kept changing the channel to the Hallmark channel, no matter what button you pressed?” Bert blinks. “You said it was haunted!” Edna smirks. “Nope. I glued a penny inside the battery compartment to short-circuit it. You never missed a single Christmas romance movie for five straight years.” Bert’s mouth drops open. “Why would you do that?!” Edna sips her tea, serene. “Because payback, dear, is best served with mistletoe and slow-motion snowball fights.” After a long pause, Bert leans back in the swing and says, “You know what, Edna? I’ve got a confession too.”

As the sun dipped below the trees, Bert looked at her with a smirk and added one last confession.

“Oh, and Edna… that time your fruitcake went missing in 1994?”

She squinted. “You told me raccoons got it.”

Bert grinned. “Nope. I buried it. It cracked the shovel.”

Edna stared at him, mouth agape — then started laughing so hard she nearly spilled her tea again.

The Moral of the Story
When you’ve spent over five decades with someone, you learn that love isn’t about being perfect. It’s about laughing through the imperfections — the glued remotes, the sold gnomes, the backward hairpieces, and even the buried fruitcakes.

Because, at the end of the day, the best kind of love is the one that makes you laugh until your dentures nearly fall out.

And as the stars came out and the porch swing rocked gently in the breeze, Bert reached for Edna’s hand and whispered, “You know, Edna… I wouldn’t trade our confessions for all the skydives in the world.”

Edna smiled, squeezing his hand. “Good. Because after all that, you’re not jumping out of anything higher than this porch.”

They both laughed — and somewhere in the distance, a squirrel squeaked, still fighting for that last Cheeto.