An old couple had been together for a half century, their lives intertwined with the sort of quiet routine and knowing mischief that only such a long marriage can do. Their love was not the grand kind of love…it was just simple, steady… filled with laughter – the kind of laughter that does not grow out of big, romantic gestures but out of the small, ridiculous moments they shared every day.
Just as clockwork, everyday, the husband would rise from bed with over-dramatic groans, stretch his limb and let off an earth-shattering fart. It was never shy, never apologetic. In fact, he followed it with a deep, satisfied laugh which bounced off the walls of the bedroom. His wife, up by the time the performance started, would shake her head and say the same old thing she’d said for years: One day, you’re going to blow your guts out.
It had become a little joke between the two of them—her warning, his laugh, the daily rite of love put on as irritation. However, one depressing Thanksgiving morning when the smell of roasting turkey pervaded the kitchen and the frigid air outside promised winter, the wife happened to feel the mood for mischief.
Prepping the turkey she stopped, her attention fixed on a bowl, slippery and not appetizing innards – gizzards, liver, bits and pieces she’d normally toss or jam into the bird. However, this time she had a more brilliant idea. With a kind of a grin only someone who’s been married for years could pull off, she gathered a handful and tip-toed her way into the bedroom. Her husband was still sleeping, snoring gently as he slept, unaware of the prank that was going to unravel.
With the stealth of a cat burglar, she slipped the cold, gooey turkey parts into his underwear and slunk back into the kitchen. She didn’t have to wait for long.
An hour later, on time, the familiar sound came from the bedroom- the loud morning fart, a split second of his trademark chuckle. But then, something different. Silence. Then a sudden, horrified scream.
The house was deathly silent for a good ten minutes. No footsteps. No muttering. Just stillness.
She stood in the kitchen, barely containing her laughter to where tears appeared, when he would at last appear. And when he did, it was even more than what she had dreamed.
He comes down the stairs in ghost-pale skin, wide-eyed, fingers covered with something no man ever wants to find in his underwear. He stunned every word he uttered; he only stares at her, and he clears his throat and then speaks.
“Honey,” he said softly, “I am sorry. You were right all these years – I finally farted my guts out.
Then he raised his hand with fake solemnity and said “But don’t worry”. By the grace of God and these two fingers I was able to push them all back in.
She erupted in laughter, the kind that would leave her bent over in hysterics that shook her body until someone was inevitably victims of stares from her tears careening down her cheeks. And, after a beat, he started to laugh as well. That deep old laugh that had lilted through their mornings for half a century.
It was just another prank. One more to include in the scrapbook of their life together. But it was also a perfect refresher of what made their love so enduring: not the loyalty, not the past together but the joke. The mischief. The pleasure of feeling that they still could surprise one another after so many years.
Five decades of marriage had taught them that love was not always a romantic candlelight dinner or an epic statement of love. At times love was being able to know precisely what to do to make each other laugh- and with enough courage to shove turkey guts into a pair of underwear for it. On that morning of Thanksgiving, a home with so much warmth and laughter, she gave them both another reason to be thankful for: a story they’d never forget.
