I once bought a house from a man who made his living as an Elvis impersonator. This made sense, since he looked and sounded a lot like Elvis. As I was poking around in his kitchen he asked me what I did for a living. “I’m a professional cyclist,” I said.
“You must have a very low resting pulse,” he said.
“It’s about 42 beats per minute,” I said.
“That’s, ah, mighty impressive,” he said.
