The local newspaper sent a young reporter to interview an elderly couple who were celebrating an astonishing seventy years of marriage. The couple, Agnes and Arthur, sat side by side on a worn but cozy sofa, their hands resting comfortably together as if they had never known any other place to be. The reporter, wide-eyed with excitement and admiration, leaned forward with her notebook ready and asked, “Seventy years together! That’s absolutely incredible. What’s the secret to such a long and happy marriage?”
Agnes smiled warmly, a mischievous sparkle dancing in her eyes, and cleared her throat as if preparing for a performance. Arthur, sitting quietly beside her, let out a soft chuckle and shifted in his seat, clearly aware of where the story was headed.
“Well,” Agnes began, “when we were young, Arthur was quite the sight. He was handsome, charming—and unbelievably clumsy.” Arthur laughed under his breath, nodding in agreement. “One afternoon, early in our courtship, we were walking by a creek near my parents’ house. Arthur wasn’t paying attention, tripped over a rock, and fell straight into the mud.”
Agnes paused for effect. “There he was, soaked from head to toe, covered in mud, looking completely ridiculous. I laughed so hard I nearly fell over myself.” The reporter smiled, scribbling eagerly, convinced humor was about to be revealed as the key to a happy marriage.
“But Arthur,” Agnes continued, “looked up at me with a very serious expression and said, ‘Agnes, if you’re going to laugh every time I do something silly, this relationship isn’t going to work.’” Agnes leaned closer to the reporter and lowered her voice dramatically. “So right there, on the muddy bank of that creek, I made him a promise.”
Arthur straightened up proudly. “She promised she’d never laugh at me again,” he said.
The reporter’s eyes widened. “And you actually kept that promise all these years?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Agnes replied sweetly. “I haven’t laughed at him since.”
The reporter beamed. “So the secret to a long marriage is never laughing at your husband?”
Agnes paused, then added quietly, “Well… not out loud.”
Arthur burst into laughter, shaking his head, while the reporter hurriedly wrote down every word, convinced she had just uncovered priceless marital wisdom.
Not far away, another elderly couple, Harold and Edna, were also sharing their story after sixty years of marriage. Harold had always been curious about a small shoebox Edna kept hidden high in the closet. No matter how many times he asked, she never allowed him to open it. Over the years, he stopped asking, assuming it was something private or sentimental.
When Edna became gravely ill, she finally called Harold to her bedside and told him he could open the box. With trembling hands, Harold lifted the lid and found two small crocheted dolls and an astonishing $95,000 in neatly stacked cash.
Confused and overwhelmed, Harold asked Edna what it all meant. She smiled gently and explained that her grandmother had given her advice on her wedding day: whenever she felt angry with her husband, she should crochet a doll instead of arguing. Harold’s eyes filled with tears. “Only two dolls in sixty years?” he said, his voice cracking. “You hardly ever got mad at me.”
Edna smiled softly, then added, “Oh no, dear. The money? That’s from selling all the other dolls.”