Agnes prided herself on being modern. At 82, that meant using a dating service. Her profile read: “Agnes, enjoys knitting, bingo, and a good cup of tea. Dating service: Wants a spouse! LOL.” She even added a winky face emoji.
The dating service, “Eternal Flame,” set her up with Bertram, 87, whose profile listed “napping, reminiscing, and prune juice.” Agnes was optimistic. Maybe Eternal Flame knew what they were doing.
Their first date was at the “Golden Years Diner.” Bertram arrived with his walker and a hearing aid that whistled intermittently.
“So, Agnes,” Bertram began, shouting slightly, “I see you enjoy knitting! I used to unravel sweaters. Does that count?”
Agnes chuckled. “It’s a start, Bertram.” She took a sip of her lukewarm coffee. “And bingo?”
Bertram squinted. “Bingo? Oh! I always yell ‘House!’ even if I only have two numbers. Confuses the youngsters, you know.”
The date wasn’t exactly setting the world on fire. He talked about his bunions for twenty minutes and confused her for his late wife, Mildred, at least twice. Still, Agnes persevered.
“Eternal Flame thinks we’re a match,” she reminded him, trying to steer the conversation away from prune juice.
“Eternal Flame, eh?” Bertram wheezed. “Probably thinks anyone who can still chew solid food is a match for anyone else!”
As they were leaving, Bertram struggled to put on his coat. Agnes, feeling a surge of unexpected chivalry (and hoping to hurry things along), helped him. As she wrestled with the sleeve, a small, rectangular object fell out of his pocket.
Agnes picked it up. It was a business card. It read: “Eternal Flame Dating Service – Your Matchmakers for Life… or until death do us part!” Underneath, in smaller print: “Intern Special! $5 off your next disastrous date.”
Agnes stared at Bertram. Bertram stared at the card. Then, he smiled sheepishly. “Well, at least I got the senior discount.”
