I married the man next door, whos eightytwo, and he still swears it was his greatest bit of madness.
When I told my sister, she nearly choked on her scone.
What on earth have you done? she exclaimed.
Its all right, I replied. He isnt just eighty, hes a full eightytwo. Listen carefully.
His children would pop in now and then. Theyd arrive, let out a sigh, then be off again. This time they brought pamphlets for retirement homes clearly his pace didnt match theirs.
Dad, its what we need, they said.
Need? Is life just a set of instructions? he asked.
That very afternoon a knock sounded at the door.
A bottle of wine in my hand, excitement in my eyes.
Theres a plan: marry me and they wont send me to a care home. Youre young. Im stubborn. Isnt that a perfect formula?
What’s in it for me? I asked, wary.
Ill make a proper stew, spin yarns all night, and never let you feel blue.
Tempting.
The wedding was a delightfully absurd affair.
I turned up in heels without shoes,
he arrived with a tie from another century,
and the witnesses were the regulars from the corner shop who laughed more than they signed the register.
We became husband and wife, yet each lived in our own world, side by side.
Every morning he performed a heroic routine of five pushups on the bedroom floor.
I kept calling my coffee yesterdays revenge.
On Sundays the kitchen filled with the scent of his stewand his warm stories.
Come evening, our banter turned comic:
Im still something special! Id brag.
Youre only special to the neighbours pigeons, hed retort.
One day his children burst in like a specialops team:
This is a scam! they shouted.
My only scam in life was serving you coffee on New Years, he deadpanned.
When they asked what I had won, I looked at him alive, witty, utterly real.
I won family warmth. A bloke to laugh with over telly, and another who lights up when I walk through the door.
After their theatrical exit, he set the coffee down.
They think Im mad.
Theyre right, I smiled.
Youre mad too.
And so am I.
Thus were perfect for each other.
Six months later:
He still rises at the crack of dawn,
I still ruin the coffee just a bit,
and Sundays remain the best day of the week.
Regret it? I asked.
Not one bit, he answered. Its been the finest absurdity of my life.
And you know what? Ive never once felt this marriage was anything but genuine.
Lifes lesson: love isnt about matching ages or perfect plans; its about finding someone whose quirks complement yours, turning everyday absurdities into shared warmth.
