After 50 years, a truly incredible bond must intertwine this magnificent couple; even disregarding the pet peeves and mildly frequent squabbling.
As celebration, we were invited to a classy dinner to proclaim this momentous occasion. I must admit that I had high expectations of a wild, pensioner themed shindig; with an abundance of plate smashing, tea chugging and table dancing. To put it bluntly, I was mislead, but not disappointed! It was an immediate family gathering that resulted in many laughs, stories, and of course: dad jokes.
Here's one of the funnier stories:
I was in the car with Frank. We were driving down a curvaceous country road and noticed a scrappy cardboard sign, barely pinned to a telegraph pole. It read "Fresh cherries, $8/kilo!" (I recall atleast one spelling error). My grandad has the uncanny ability to recall the current value of any fruit or vegetable from the local supermarket. "They are $11.50 a kilo in Woolworths!" he yells eagerly.
We make the approaching turn-off just in time (no thanks to the terrible signage), tearing into the gravel turning bay with a dust cloud behind us. Ahead is a reasonably sized pop up fruit stall, and manning it was a plump woman slouched in a chair. She sat up alertly, in sync with our fashionable entrance.
After pulling to a stop, we both get out of the car and stroll confidently to the stall; prepared for a barter. The woman greets us with a welcoming expression and warm words, "How's it garn?" she drones. Her smile almost reveals a full set of teeth, which indicated either a sugar addiction or unsuccessful boxing career. Fortunately, I am a cunning linguist and respond appropriately "Yep, good!". After all, I wasn't here for courtesy; this was serious business.
A partially filled bowl of deformed looking cherries sat on the counter top, they appeared to be the worst of the bunch. This did not dissuade my grandpa however, who had already scooped up a handful and had commenced munching and spitting pips in every direction. His cherry consuming skills were unparalleled, systematically decimating the bowl with a methodical rhythm in a matter of seconds. Chomp, spit, chomp, spit.
The woman was clearly taken aback by the empty bowl. Her initially welcoming face turned sour faster than you could say "How's it garn?". Completely oblivious to her reaction and obviously unsatisfied; Frank had already locked eyes with his next target. Just beside the woman sat another bowl of cherries, this bowl was very different to the seedy sample bowl however.
The bowl was overflowing with the glossiest, most pristine, succulent delights you could ever imagine. These cherries were clearly the woman's personal stash, exclusive to the public. By this point I was pretty amused by my grandfather's binge, yet fearful for his safety.
The woman noticed Frank's attention shift to the piece de resistance of cherry caches. She shifted her body between him and the bowl with intimidating demeanor. Frank absentmindedly reached out a confident hand to try the greener grass. *SLAP!* The woman had validated her dominance and flogged his meaty paw out of sight, whilst barking "You've had enough!". Frank was bewildered, but before he could respond I quickly interjected "We'll take a kilo thanks!".
Much love to my amazing grandparents, you both deserve a 1st and 2nd place ribbon.