You're the last milkman in the country. You have just one customer left, a 91 year old woman who doesn't know she's the last woman in America to have milk delivered to her house. She also doesn't know that all these years she's been the love of your life. Tell her today.
"We're relics," say to her.
"I wonder what kept us from moving into the future with the rest of the world?" she'll ask.
"An appreciation for the simpler things?" you'll propose.
"Isn't it amazing?" she'll say. "You being my milkman all these years and you never once came in through the back door and ravaged me on my kitchen table."
"Yeah, the other milkmen called us the Will-They-Won't-They couple of the milk routes, since you're the only housewife of any milk route that didn't take it from a Milkman."
"What kept you?" she'll ask.
"Perhaps I didn't want to reduce you to just another lonely housewife that I could enter as a notch on my belt," tell her.
She'll tell you that the mailman never cared quite so much.
Say, "Now I feel like a fool. I kept real happiness at bay to hold on to some imaginary idea of purity, while all the while the mailmen was sending you to a place of ecstasy. That could have been me."
She'll walk her fingers up your chest and say, "It's never too late."
Tell her it actually is too late. She's 91 and you're 87. Neither of you should be having sex with anybody, and you don't really have any desire to try. Sit side-by-side and silently enjoy the twilight of your lives.
Happy Milkman Day!