“You love me don’t you?” she asked as we sat outside our tent sipping on the freshly brewed coffee she’d expertly made.

“Of course,” I replied, “for an older woman you are a bit of alright.”

“I’ve decided to change all that,” she announced, “from now on I’m only going to celebrate my birthday every four years.”

“Isn’t that simply denying the obvious?”

“No, not at all. I’m doing it because I can. So please don’t say anything about my birthday for the next four years. By then I will be fifty-two.”

“But you’re fifty one now.”

“Yes exactly. You see my point. Every four years of time I will register one more chronological year. You’ll age as per normal, I’ll love you till your dying day, and when you die, I’ll bury you and move on.”

“That’s all a bit calculating isn’t it?”

“It’s the only way I can…