Berni and I were out to a local Mexican restaurant the other night, one of the few such excursions we have been able to afford recently. We shared a platter of the fajitas, more than enough for her and me.
Midway through dinner, I pointed to another couple across the room: two old farts who reminded me of my parents (both of whom are still alive). They were also dining out and I said, “That’ll be us in ten years.”
Berni turned to me and said, “That’s a mirror, you nitwit.”