I’ve decided to get serious about my bucket list. After weeks promising my wife I’d create one, and repeatedly overstating how close I am to completion, I see no choice but to focus on the things I most want to accomplish before I cast off my mortal coil. I have a long way to go though. Thus far, I’ve only managed to jot down one item: “Finish the damn bucket list!”
For New Year’s, Sophia resolved for the two of us to craft bucket lists and then help each other cross off one wish by summer’s end. She presumed we’d need substantial planning time, and she’s been nagging me incessantly to finish so we can get going.
Although I’ve tried a number of times, I’ve failed to make much progress. I’m having trouble deciding on my life’s goals. Do I want to visit every state in the U.S. or trek to every country in the world? Not so much. Do I desire to bungee jump off the Golden Gate Bridge? Well, maybe. Would I really wish to switch places with Hef for a day at the Playboy Mansion? — Not that I’m willing to admit in writing, so long as my wife is alive and armed!
Frankly, I find it much easier to think of the endeavors I’ll never, ever want to undertake, under any circumstances. Every time I attempt to create my bucket list, I instead end up expanding my roster of most dreaded experiences, which I’ve internally denominated as the “shit list.” That menu, at least, has progressed nicely, without having to include unrealistic activities, I might add. Instead of the unsavory but absurd “serve life sentence with a lonely, 300 pound cellmate named ‘Bubba’,” I’ve focused on experiences which foreseeably could occur, but which I fervently pray will not. My number one item to date reads: “Perform as a clown at children’s birthday party.”
To stop Sophia from pestering me, I’ve somewhat misrepresented my bucket list’s state of completion. I’ve also conveyed the slightly mistaken impression that the paper she often sees me scribbling on represents said bucket list, not my shit list as has actually been the case. For my protection, I’ve concealed the document from her prying eyes, since even untitled, there’s no mistaking its entries for lifetime goals.
The old saying goes, “where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Sophia certainly has the will, and she eventually found a way to peruse my guarded paper. Having done so, she took her sweet revenge this afternoon. Not that she admitted payback as her intent. No, she insisted she was simply helping to cross off an item on the document I myself had denominated a bucket list. She didn’t smirk at all either, even when handing me the clown costume I’d wear while fulfilling “your dream” to perform at a party for more than a dozen screeching six-year-olds.