Life expectancy would grow by leaps and bounds if green

Host: The diner hummed with a quiet, nostalgic rhythm — the kind that only happens near midnight. The neon sign outside flickered OPEN, painting the rain-slick street in hues of red and blue. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of bacon, coffee, and late-night confessions.

Jack sat in a corner booth, a half-eaten BLT in front of him, his tie loosened and his hair slightly disheveled from the damp air outside. Across from him, Jeeny was stirring her cup of tea, steam curling upward like a thought not yet spoken.

The jukebox in the corner played an old Sinatra tune — soft, comforting, ironic.

Jeeny: reading from a napkin where she had scribbled something earlier

“Life expectancy would grow by leaps and bounds if green vegetables smelled as good as bacon.”
— Doug Larson

Host: The words drifted through the diner like a breeze of laughter — light, but carrying something more underneath. Jack smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting as if he’d just remembered what joy tasted like.

Jack: grinning “Now that’s the kind of wisdom I can get behind.”

Jeeny: smiling, setting down her spoon “You would. The gospel according to bacon.”

Jack: “Tell me I’m wrong. The man’s right — we’d all live longer if temptation worked in our favor.”

Jeeny: laughing softly “If only virtue came wrapped in the scent of sin.”

Host: The waitress passed by, refilling their cups with practiced grace. The sizzle of the grill in the background gave punctuation to their words, like applause after each truth disguised as humor.

Jack: leaning back “It’s funny, though — he’s not really talking about vegetables or bacon, is he?”

Jeeny: curious “What do you think he’s talking about then?”

Jack: “Human nature. The way we always crave what’s bad for us and avoid what’s good — just because of how it feels.”

Jeeny: nodding “Pleasure’s a better salesman than logic ever was.”

Host: Jack picked up a fry, staring at it like it might hold the moral of the story. The fluorescent lights flickered slightly above him, humming in tune with the old refrigerator near the counter.

Jack: quietly “We’re wired for desire, not discipline. If green beans came with a side of dopamine, the world would be a utopia.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Maybe the problem isn’t the beans. Maybe it’s the way we measure joy.”

Jack: raising an eyebrow “Meaning?”

Jeeny: leaning forward “We associate pleasure with indulgence — with reward. But joy… joy’s quieter. It’s in balance, in choosing what nourishes instead of just what excites.”

Jack: grinning “That sounds like the kind of thing you’d say while eating salad.”

Jeeny: smirking “And it sounds like the kind of thing you’d ignore while ordering another round of bacon.”

Host: They both laughed — the easy, unguarded laughter that comes only when the truth lands and hurts just a little. Outside, a siren wailed faintly in the distance, blending with the rain’s gentle percussion on the glass.

Jack: after a pause “You know, Larson’s quote — it’s clever because it’s true. If virtue felt as good as vice, we’d all be saints.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the point. Growth wouldn’t mean anything if it didn’t taste bitter first.”

Jack: thoughtfully “So you’re saying the broccoli has to be bland, so the bacon can teach us gratitude.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Exactly. The contrast is the lesson.”

Host: The waitress set down the check quietly beside them. The paper fluttered slightly in the air-conditioning — the unspoken reminder that all joy, even simple ones, comes with its price.

Jack: sighing, reaching for his wallet “It’s strange. We spend our lives chasing comfort, when maybe the trick to longevity isn’t in green vegetables or bacon at all — maybe it’s in learning to enjoy both without guilt.”

Jeeny: “To live like everything on the plate matters.”

Jack: smiling faintly “Even the vegetables.”

Host: The neon light outside flickered again — OPEN, OPE, OPEN — like a heartbeat refusing to quit.

Jeeny: after a pause “You know what I think? Larson’s quote isn’t just a joke. It’s a mirror. It’s about how we crave the easy path to health, happiness, everything — but life, real life, demands taste for the bittersweet.”

Jack: nodding slowly “Yeah. If all the good things came easy, they’d lose their flavor.”

Jeeny: smiling “And the trick is to train your senses — to learn how to love what keeps you alive.”

Jack: softly “That’s the hard part, isn’t it? Making the broccoli smell like bacon.”

Jeeny: grinning, lifting her tea “Or realizing that, if you pay enough attention, it already does.”

Host: The camera pulled back, showing them through the rain-streaked window — two figures caught in warm light while the world outside dripped and moved and never stopped hungering.

The jukebox changed songs. Sinatra faded into silence, replaced by something soft and familiar — a tune that hummed like comfort, like memory, like home.

And as the diner lights dimmed, Doug Larson’s words echoed, playful yet profound:

That pleasure is easy,
but appreciation is earned.

That the art of living
lies not in avoiding indulgence,
but in redeeming it —
in finding sweetness in what sustains,
and savoring what strengthens.

And that maybe,
if gratitude ever learned to smell like bacon,
we’d all finally learn
to taste our blessings —
one mindful bite at a time.