After thirty years of marriage, Carl assumed passion had quietly retired with his hairline. Dinner, dishes, bedtime. Rinse and repeat.
But one rainy Saturday, while watching old Westerns in his recliner, his wife walked in wearing a silk robe he hadn’t seen in decades.
She stood in front of him, arms crossed.
“You really think I don’t want you anymore?” she asked.
Carl chuckled nervously. “I mean, we’re not exactly… 25.”
She said nothing. Just straddled his lap, eyes locked onto his, and whispered:
“Prove it.”
His heart thumped. Not just from surprise—but from something deeper, something buried under years of routine.
That night, he proved a lot of things. Most importantly—that desire doesn’t have an expiration date.