Maybe there would be a practical test.
The smile that creased my face obviously gave away what I was thinking and my beloved was quick to dispel any such notion.
"Not THAT talk," she said with a hint of get-your-mind-out-of-the-gutter-you mucky-sod disgust.
"We need to talk about end of life stuff and our wishes for when we are older."
To say I was disappointed was an understatement.
This talk was not really one I wanted on a wet holiday afternoon. Reading the paper or having a snooze on the couch was much more appealing.
To be honest, this talk was not really one I wanted to have at all. Not yet, anyway. I mean, I'm 51 not 81. I've got heaps of time to sort that stuff out. Haven't I?
I remarked as much to Mrs P as I tried to get out of the chat but she was having none of it and quickly demonstrated why she is the sensible one in our double act.
Yes I was just 51 but that meant 61 was just around the corner and 71 was at the end of that road.
There were heaps of people our age, she said, who had suffered some traumatic health occurrence and hadn't made their wishes clear regarding exactly what they wanted in terms of health care, end of life, funerals, etc.
It's hard to argue with my lady most times. It's even harder when she's right.
I had to agree I knew a few people (you probably do, too) who had been good as gold one day and then gone, just like that.
In one particular case, a family I'm acquainted with has been torn apart because of a dispute over what to do.
We spent a few minutes discussing the intricacies of that particular situation and the hurt it had inflicted on all concerned.
After that I felt completely cheered up. Not. But I realised she was right.
There needed to be some serious discussion. But it wasn't easy for me.
To be serious that is.
OK, I know it's a serious subject and not one that many of us want to have to deal with but, hey, if having a laugh when you do talk about it makes it easier, then go for it. At least talk about it.
Anyway.
After a great deal of laughter (and a bit of wine) Mrs P and I reached agreement.
And we had a great afternoon.
What we want is all written down. My copy has a red wine stain on it.
Come to think of it, I suppose my wishes could be challenged if it appears I was under the influence of alcohol. Hmm, might need a visit to Bill the Barrister for that one ...
But in the main we got a lot sorted.
We know what we want in terms of any medical emergencies, power of attorney for the kids and, of course, our wills. Pretty simple, really, though in an act of complete charity I'll be leaving my golf clubs to my mate Jimmy. I've seen him play. It is heartbreaking. His don't work.
So, all that remains now is to finalise the music we want at our funerals.
Mrs P wants to go out to the Rod Stewart classic, Sailing.
It was a close thing but once I pointed out the Briscoes TV ad playing in the background might be a bit tacky she settled on the more traditional departure.
And me, well, I'm hovering somewhere between the Thunderbirds theme (honestly, I thought of it before that bloke on the telly) with a stipulation it has to include the 5-4-3-2-1 countdown at the start and You'll Never Walk Alone (the Liverpool football anthem) by Gerry and the Pacemakers. Ha, I just realised. What a wholly appropriate name for a group playing at an old man's funeral!
But I've not quite decided yet.
I think I might need another wet afternoon and a talk with Mrs P.
-Kevin Page has been a journalist for 35 years. He hasn't made enough money to retire after writing about serious topics for years so he's giving humour a shot instead.
