Mary, Betty and Cathy were in their seventies and met at a high-school reunion, the first one they happened to attend since they had graduated.
“So, Mary,” said Betty, “you were the one we had figured would be the very first of us to get married. How did you make out?” To which Mary replied, “Well, no. I never did get married. How about you, Betty?”
Betty told her friends that she had married, but that her husband had passed on, “However,” she said “I still love him dearly, visit his grave on a daily basis, weed it, make sure it always has fresh flowers, and I even had a bench installed, so that I can sit, contemplate and say a little prayer when I am there. That has become an important part of my life.”
Mary said, “That is nice. What about you, Cathy, did you manage to find yourself a husband?” Cathy responded, “I had three, and they all passed away already, one after the other.” To which Mary remarked that it surely must take a major part of her waking hours to visit three graves and to look after them properly.
“No, no,” said Cathy, “There is nothing like that in my case. I had them cremated. If I want to contemplate my life with them, I just look at the urns with their ashes that I keep in the living room.”
“Now look at that,” said Mary, “Here I have been trying to find the right fella all my life, had no success and became a spinster, while you had husbands to burn.”