At the Pearly Gates, beneath clouds arranged with the neatness of an art museum, three Italian nuns arrived
together after long, faithful lives. St. Peter welcomed them warmly, smiling as he checked their names off a very shiny list. “Sisters,” he said kindly, “you lived with compassion, humility, and good humor. As a reward, Heaven is granting you something special. You may return to Earth for six months and be anyone you wish, doing anything you choose—just for fun.” The nuns looked at one another in astonishment. A lifetime of rules, routines, and quiet discipline, and now… total freedom. Their eyes sparkled like children given permission to stay up past bedtime.
The first nun stepped forward, barely able to contain her excitement. “I would-a like to be Taylor Swift,” she said, imagining music, bright lights, and songs that made millions feel understood. With a gentle poof, she disappeared, probably already holding a microphone. The second nun followed confidently. “I want-a to be Madonna,” she declared, dreaming of creativity, bold choices, and fearless reinvention. Another poof, and she was gone too. St. Peter nodded approvingly, clearly used to big dreams. He then turned to the third nun, who stood quietly, hands folded, wearing a peaceful smile that suggested she knew something no one else did.
“I want-a to be Alberto Pipalini,” the third nun said softly. St. Peter blinked. He flipped through his records, checked a few heavenly databases, and scratched his head. “I’m sorry, sister,” he said gently, “but I don’t recognize that name. Is he a singer? An artist? A world leader?” The nun smiled wider and calmly pulled out a small newspaper clipping she had somehow brought with her. She pointed to a headline that read: ‘Local Man Alberto Pipalini Named Happiest Person Alive.’ The article explained that Alberto was known not for fame or fortune, but for living a simple, joyful life—running a small family business, laughing often, helping neighbors, and never taking things too seriously.