I married the bloke next door, whos 82, and he still swears it was his finest folly.
When I told my sister, she nearly choked on her scone:
Have you lost your wits? she blurted.
Im fine, I replied. Hes not just eighty, hes a full eightytwo. Listen up.
His grownup children dropped by now and then, lingered for a breath and then were off again. This time they brought glossy leaflets for retirement villages clearly he wasnt cut out for their fastpaced lives.
Dad, thats whats required, one said.
Required? he retorted. Is life nothing but a set of instructions?
That very afternoon there was a knock at the door.
Wine in my hand, a spark in my eye.
Theres a plan: marry me and they wont shuffle me off to a care home. Youre young. Im stubborn. Isnt that a perfect formula?
Whats in it for me? I asked, wary.
Ill cook a proper stew, spin yarns all evening, and never let you linger in gloom.
Tempting, indeed.
The wedding itself was a blend of romance and absurdity: I showed up in heels without shoes, he in a cravat from a bygone era. The witnesses were the shopkeepers from the corner stall, more inclined to guffaw than to sign. We became husband and wife, each living in our own world yet side by side.
Every morning he performed his heroics on the floor with five pushups. I kept calling my coffee yesterdays revenge. On Sundays the kitchen filled with the aroma of his stew and his warm stories.
By evening our banter turned comic:
Im still a marvel! Id tease.
Youre a marvel only to the neighbouring pigeons, hed retort.
One day the kids burst in like a specialops team:
This is a scam! they shouted.
My only scam in life was your New Years coffee, he deadpanned.
When they asked what Id won, I looked at himalive, witty, genuine.
I won a hearth of family, a person to laugh with over sitcoms, and someone who brightens up when I walk through the door.
After their dramatic exit, he set the coffee down.
They think Im mad.
Theyre right, I smiled.
Youre mad, too.
So were perfect for each other.
Six months on: he still rises at dawn, I still ruin the coffee, and Sundays remain the tastiest day of the week.
Do you regret it? I asked.
Nope, he replied. Its the best bit of absurdity Ive ever lived through.
And you know what? Not a single day has made me feel that this marriage is any less real. Its a reminder that love doesnt need to be conventional to be genuine; it merely needs two people willing to share the quirks, the mess, and the laughter.
