After 47 years of marriage, Roy and Kelly had mastered two things: arguing over nonsense and dancing in the living room at 6 p.m. sharp.
One evening, Kelly stormed into the room, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.
“You loaded the dishwasher wrong again, Roy!”
Roy, unfazed, sipped his lukewarm coffee and replied, “Well, if I’m going to mess it up, I might as well be consistent.”
Kelly scoffed. Roy turned up the volume on their old record player. Frank Sinatra’s voice filled the air.
With a dramatic bow, Roy said, “May I have this fight—I mean—dance?”
Kelly rolled her eyes but took his hand. “Only because I can’t yell while twirling.”
As they shuffled around, Kelly stepped on Roy’s foot. He winced.
“Still better than your cooking,” he muttered.
She grinned. “Better than your driving too.”
They danced in angry silence… until they both burst out laughing.
Because sometimes love isn’t candlelit dinners—it’s sarcastic footwork and knowing your partner will still offer a hand, even after loading the dishwasher like a raccoon.
