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… I’ve always wanted to skydive.”

Edna’s eyes widen.
“You? You nearly faint tying your shoes!”

He grins.
“Just imagine me landing in the neighbor’s garden. I’ve always wanted to haunt him while still alive.”

They both laugh, and Edna says, “Fine. You skydive. I’ll do mine.”

Bert squints.
“And yours is…?”

That mischievous sparkle appears in her eyes.
“Remember your favorite recliner that mysteriously leaned left for twenty years?”

He nods, still blaming the family dog.

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

Bert gasps.
“You villain!”

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

Bert’s jaw drops.
“Why?”

Edna sips her tea, serene.
“Because nothing says ‘revenge’ like five years of snowball fights and mistletoe movies.”

He chuckles.
“Alright, my turn. You know my Saturday ‘fishing trips’ for the past decade?”

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

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

She bursts out laughing, remembering the time in 1965 she tossed his “trophies” out the car window during a spat.

Weeks later, Edna replaces the sabotaged recliner, and Bert finally goes skydiving—landing squarely in the neighbor’s yard while Edna cheers from the fence. Every Saturday after that, they go bowling together—not just for strikes and spares, but to prove that love and mischief make the best team.

Years pass, and one autumn evening, the couple—still as inseparable as ever—pass away peacefully in their sleep, holding hands.

When they open their eyes, they’re at the Pearly Gates, where St. Peter greets them warmly. He gives them a tour of their new heavenly home: a gourmet kitchen, a Jacuzzi, a championship golf course, and a five-star buffet.

Bert, wide-eyed, asks, “Alright, but how much does all this cost?”

St. Peter laughs.
“This is heaven—everything’s free. Eat, drink, play as much as you like. You’ll never get sick or gain weight here.”

Bert turns slowly to Edna, mock outrage on his face.
“So… if you hadn’t made me eat kale muffins and bran cereal for fifty years, we could’ve been here sooner?”

Edna swats his arm, smiling.
“Oh, Bert… even in heaven, you’re the grumpiest man I’ve ever loved.”

Hand in hand, they walk toward their pearly porch swing, ready to spend forever exactly how they spent their life—laughing together.