Imagine being 75 and you're sat thinking about your life and how you never went swimming in the sea on a warm night because your thighs jiggled. Imagine realizing you never laughed until you

Imagine realizing you never laughed until you snorted soda out of your nose, never danced barefoot in the rain, never ate dessert before dinner just because life felt sweet enough to deserve it.

And now here you are, sitting in your rocking chair, staring at the garden gnome you bought ironically but now talk to daily like he's your retired roommate named Carl.

You sigh and say, “Well Carl, I should’ve jiggled those thighs. Should’ve cannonballed into that moonlit sea, giggling like a mischievous raccoon.”

But just as you’re starting to feel sorry for yourself, your great-granddaughter walks in and says, “Grandpa, is it true you once made pancakes on a campfire using only a flip-flop and a fishing net?”

You nod. “Yes. They were terrible. But legendary.”

She giggles and says, “You’re so cool.”

And suddenly, you realize: Wait a minute… I did a bunch of weird, wonderful stuff.

You remember the time you tried stand-up comedy and got one pity laugh (from a drunk guy named Dennis, bless him). Or when you joined that senior jazzercise class and ended up in a dance battle with a retired ballerina named Mabel who crushed you. (You still have the bruised ego and a photo.)

You didn’t swim under the stars—but you skinny dipped in a hotel fountain on a dare from your cousin Larry. That counts.

So you smile, lean back, and say to Carl the gnome, “You know what? Jiggly thighs or not, I lived. Maybe not perfectly. But hilariously.”

And Carl, as always, says nothing.

Because he’s a gnome.