The Bucket List

The other night we were sitting at Rookies, one of our favorite sports bars, perusing the specials menu when The Blond Bombshell said, "Look, they have lobster!" A moment later she said, "Oh, never mind. They're whole lobsters. I don't want to be responsible for killing one."

"So, like, what?" I asked. "You only want to cripple one?"

I dunno, I thought it was funny.

Later, over a dinner of burgers and sweet potato fries she asked me how my bucket list was coming. I took a sip of Guinness and said that maybe I ought to add making a bucket list to my bucket list. Then I asked her why she thought I needed one.

"Well, I thought since you just went skydiving you'd be thinking of other things you would like to do..."

"What... before I die?"

"Uh... that is sort of the point of a bucket list, isn't it?"

"I guess." I replied. "It just seems... kind of morbid."

"It doesn't have to be. You could make it fun. You know, like an adventure."

"Fun huh? Well, I guess I could do that." I thought for a second and said, "How about I divorce my estranged wife of 36 years to see if her mother really is unavailable?"

"Very funny." She said. Her frown belied her words. "I had in mind something more like teaching yourself Greek."

"I did that 25 years ago."

"Oh."

"I could ask Ann to teach me how to scoff in German." I suggested.

"You could learn how to swing dance."

"Swing?" I said, my voice brightening. "Maybe I could try to figure out why 3-ways are O.K. for light bulbs but not for other stuff."

"Could you even try to be serious?" she asked, her hazel eyes flashing.

"Let me see..." I answered, seeming to look deep inside myself. "Nope. I don't think so."

She leaned over and kissed my cheek. "I didn't think so, either. You know there are a lot of things that could be fun to try, though."

I waggled my eyebrows and pretended to flick an imaginary cigar ash, saying in my best Groucho voice, "What did you have in mind, little girl?"

After a brief silence she said, "You could learn how to fly an airplane."

"I doubt it." I answered. "But I could petition Johnson & Johnson to bring out a more gender neutral version of Ben-Gay."

"You could learn how to play the guitar." she said, ignoring me.

"Or I could let them call me back for one more covert mission."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, brushing her long blond hair from her bare shoulders while nibbling delicately at her burger.

"Uh, never mind. I really shouldn't have said anything."

She stared at me for a moment and finally said, "I never know when to take you seriously."

"Exactly."

"What?"

"Never."

"Oh... " For a moment it was like she had lost her place. "Well, uh, how about going over a waterfall in a barrel?"

"What're you - crazy?" I asked as I daubed some chipotle sauce with a sweet potato fry. "If I wanted to do something dangerous I could just whistle Flight of the Bumble Bee in a crowded elevator."

"Or you could pick a foreign country that you've never been to." she ventured.

"O.K. Now what?" I asked innocently.

"What?"

"I've picked one. Brazil. Now what?"

"You can go to..."

"Careful." I said. "Your Irish is showing."

While she was thinking about that, I said, "You know, I could try to read an entire page, silently, without moving my lips."

"You've never been quiet for that long." she shot back.

"Touche." I replied. "Nicely played."

Finally, while she was dabbing her lips with a napkin, she asked me, "Isn't there something that you really, really want to do before you die?"

"Well... yeah, I guess." I said, staring at my empty plate. "I'd really, really like to find a cure for whatever it was that was killing me."



You know, I have never understood why people look at me that way.

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