An elderly couple, Bert and Edna, are sitting on the porch swing!

On a peaceful Sunday evening, Bert and Edna—married fifty-five years—rock gently on their porch swing, sipping lukewarm tea as squirrels tussle over a stray Cheeto and the sun slips below the horizon. Suddenly, Edna breaks the quiet. “Bert, let’s talk bucket lists.”

He looks up, eyebrows arching. “Bucket lists? I’m eighty-seven, Edna. The last thing I plan to do is wake up tomorrow remembering where I left my pants.”

She chuckles. “No, silly. I mean a list of dreams we’ve never dared—things we want to do before we go.”

He 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, and Edna agrees: “Fine. You skydive. I’ll do mine.”

Bert squints. “And what’s yours?”

That mischievous sparkle returns. “Bert… remember your favorite recliner that mysteriously leaned left for twenty years?”

He nods, still convinced the dog was to blame.

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

Bert gasps. “You monster!”

She beams. “And the remote that insisted on the Hallmark channel? I stuck a penny in the battery compartment.”

Bert’s jaw drops. “Why?”

Edna sips her tea serenely. “Because nothing says ‘revenge’ like five years of slow-motion snowball fights and mistletoe movies.”

He settles back, smiling. “Alright, confession time. You know my Saturday ‘fishing trips’ of the past decade?”

Edna raises an eyebrow. “You don’t fish.”

“Precisely,” he says with a wink. “I was bowling. I won four trophies—hidden in the basement behind the water heater.”

Realizing she once tossed his “trophies” out the car window during a tiff in 1965, they both burst into laughter.

A few weeks later, Edna replaces the sabotaged recliner, and Bert finally goes skydiving—landing safely in the neighbor’s yard, where they both howl with joy. Every Saturday, they head to the bowling alley together, not just for the game, but to remind each other that mischief and love go hand in hand.

Years pass, and the couple, now in their eighties, tragically die in a car accident. At the Pearly Gates, St. Peter welcomes them with a tour of their heavenly home—a gourmet kitchen, a Jacuzzi, a championship golf course, and a five-star buffet, all free. When Bert excitedly asks the price, St. Peter laughs, “This is heaven—everything’s on the house. Eat, drink, play, whatever you like.”

Bert’s face falls. “So… no low-fat, low-cholesterol options?”

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

Suddenly, Bert turns to Edna, pointing an accusatory finger at the sky. “This is all your fault! If you hadn’t made me shop for 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.