I love this song. When I hear it, I replay the memory of when I sang it to him and he made that funny face.

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I was on the living room floor playing Halo with my back against the couch, and he was sitting on it, watching. I kept glancing up at him, and every time I did he felt it, looked at me and smiled a little. And the song just kind of hit me, started coming out of my mouth as it came into my head, out of nowhere.

When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now.

And I stretched up to ruffle his hair, and he laughed.

Will you still be sending me a Valentine? Birthday greetings bottle of wine?
If I'd been out till quarter to three, would you lock the door?

And we both laughed, because I have, and he has. But we know how to really forgive each other, know how to look back and see the humor. I dropped my controller here, forgot the game and knelt on one knee, clasped my hands and look at him plaintively.

Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?

He gave me a look like he won't, and I made an indignant face as I reminded him,

You'll be older too,

I reached out to take his hands, lift his arms towards me like an invitation for a hug.

And if you say the word, I could stay with you.

He pushed me away, laughing as I let myself fall onto the carpet, sprawling my limbs melodramatically, my face painted with pathetic appeal.

I could be handy, mending a fuse when your lights have gone.
You can knit a sweater by the fireside, Sunday morning go for a ride.
Doing the garden, digging the weeds,

Kneeling again, on both knees this time, with my hands planted firmly on his thighs as I leaned in and asked,

Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?

I leaned closer, rubbed my face against his shoulder entreatingly,

Every summer we can rent a cottage in the Isle of Wight, if it's not too dear.
We shall scrimp and save.
Grandchildren on your knee: Vera, Chuck and Dave.

"And where will these grandchildren come from, exactly?" He teased, "You planning on popping out some kids?"

I stuck my nose in the air to show I was ignoring his questions, wagged my finger at him and tried to look authoritative as I sang,

Send me a postcard, drop me a line stating point of view
Indicate precisely what you mean to say

I yanked his shirt up, exposing him like proof,

Yours sincerely, Wasting away.

He slapped my hands off and pulled his shirt back down, glaring playfully as I went on.

Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore.

And I then changed the words, just to be stupid.

Will you still need me; will you still greet me when I'm six feet four?

And he patted my 'fro, which was getting ridiculously long, but I wanted to keep it going. Just to see if they'd still put my face everywhere, even with a big giant poofball on top of it. So far they were, and it's a riot. He patted my 'fro, smushed it down and said, "Gettin' close there, if this thing gets any bigger."

And he made this funny face. And I kissed him.