One lazy afternoon, Betty decided to inject a little rare romance into her fifty-year marriage. She picked up her phone and sent her husband, Frank, a sweet, spontaneous text: “After all these years, you still make my heart race.”
Across the house, Frank’s phone buzzed. He squinted at the screen, read it twice, and immediately turned pale.
Seconds later, Betty’s phone lit up with his frantic reply: “Are you okay?! Should I call 911 or the cardiologist?!”
Betty rolled her eyes and typed back: “No, Frank. It’s a romantic compliment. It means I’m still in love with you.”
Frank responded instantly: “Oh, thank goodness! For a second there, I thought we were heading back to the ER, and I haven’t even hidden the new credit card bill yet.”
Betty sighed, muttering to herself, “This is exactly why I don’t flirt with him. He panics like a malfunctioning smoke alarm.”
Moments later, the door swung open and Frank shuffled into the living room, proudly holding out two pink, heart-shaped antacid tablets.
“Don’t worry, Betty,” he announced bravely. “I’m fully prepared for romance… and the inevitable indigestion.”
Betty burst out laughing, accepting the tablets.
“Perfect, Frank. After fifty years together, absolutely nothing says ‘I love you’ quite like chewable calcium.”
