On a sunny afternoon, three old men sat peacefully on a park bench, watching birds, feeding ducks, and arguing softly about whether soup should ever be served cold.
A young reporter walking by noticed them and thought: “This is golden. Three wise-looking grandpas—I bet they’ve got stories.”
She approached them with a smile. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m doing a feature on longevity. Would you be willing to share your secret to a long life?”
They chuckled and nodded in agreement.
Turning to the first man, she asked, “What’s your secret?”
He folded his hands calmly and replied, “Simple. I never drank alcohol, never smoked a cigarette, and I’ve been faithfully married to the same woman for fifty years.”
“That’s truly admirable!” she said. “How old are you?”
“Ninety-three,” he said with a proud nod.
She turned to the second man. “And you, sir?”
“Well,” he said, grinning, “I’ve had my fun. Drank on special occasions, smoked a bit—nothing heavy—and dated around when I was younger.”
“And how old are you?”
“Ninety-one.”
Impressed, she scribbled into her notebook and looked to the third man, who leaned back with a cheeky grin, sunglasses on, a toothpick dangling from his lips.
“And your secret, sir?”
“Oh, me?” he said. “Let’s see—I drank like a fish every night, smoked three packs a day since I was 13, and dated every woman who’d let me buy her a drink.”
The reporter’s eyes widened. “Seriously? And how old are you?”
He paused dramatically, looked straight into the camera, and said:
“Twenty-nine.”
