A couple in their 90s walked into a solicitor’s office, holding hands.

“We’d like a divorce, please,” said the husband.

The solicitor looked up from his paperwork. “A divorce? May I ask how old you both are?”

“I’m 94,” said the husband.

“And I’m 92,” said his wife.

The solicitor blinked. “And how long have you been married?”

“Seventy years next Thursday,” replied the wife.

“Seventy years!” exclaimed the solicitor. “Good heavens. What on earth has gone wrong?”

“Oh, plenty,” said the husband. “She complains about my driving, rearranges my tools and keeps throwing out perfectly good things from the shed.”

His wife folded her arms. “He leaves wet towels on the bed, never listens to a word I say and has been telling the same six jokes since 1963.”

The solicitor leaned back in his chair. “Well, surely after seventy years together, you’ve learned to live with each other’s little habits?”

“We’ve tried,” said the husband.

“And you’re absolutely certain you want to separate?”

“Quite certain,” said his wife.

The solicitor shook his head. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. If you’ve been unhappy for so long, why on earth have you waited until your 90s to get divorced?”

The couple exchanged a glance.

Then the wife leaned forward and whispered:

“We wanted to wait until the children were dead.”