Other than becoming the first billion-dollar lotto winner, my “bucket list” is empty. I’ve already jumped in a pool fully clothed, made soap, worked a potter’s wheel and been lost in the smoke at 6,000 feet over Donner Pass in a small airplane. (Donner is 7,000 feet high).

 

I’ve milked a cow, sheared a sheep, held a Koala bear, extracted honey from a mad beehive, got stranded in a dust storm and been audited by the IRS. I don’t want to do any of those things ever again. I’ve been to a World Series game, but have no desire to

sleep in a primitive yurt. I’ve already slept on the floor of a $9.99 per-night motel room because the mattress was full of five generations of bedbugs. The day I shell out $500 for a room at a resort is the day I should be sent to the HaHa House.

 

I’ve no desire to send a message in a bottle that’s never going to get to the intended recipient. If I wanted to do that, there’s always the Post Office. I already know how to juggle and have no intention of going back to school to learn how to ride a unicycle, drive a sailboat, learn to belly dance or do ice carvings.

 

I’ve already stomped grapes but have no interest in being in a paintball fight. If I wanted to be covered in paint from head to tail, I’d paint our bathroom. I don’t want to attend a NASCAR race, be hypnotized, chase a tornado, drive an Indy car, bathe an elephant, get a tattoo, meet Oprah or go to the opera. (Although, I would like to see Elvis again.)

Don’t buy me tickets to a ballet; I’ve already seen a bunch of men in slippers at Grandpa’s rest home. I don’t want to be on “Jeopardy!” or Ellen DeGeneres’ show, or drive a Zamboni (I hate hockey). I’ve no desire to learn how to pole dance, yodel or wear a sumo wrestling outfit.

 

I’ll never swim with salmon, sharks, dolphins or the pigs in The Bahamas. I already came close to drowning in a tsunami when I was swimming in the pool at a Days Inn in Sacramento and a Weight Watchers group started doing cannonballs off the diving board.

 

I have no desire to climb a tall mountain, do a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle, ride

a zipline, go on safari, wrestle an alligator or kiss a seal lion. I’ve not wanted to go

fishing for marlin ever since I discovered that seafaring boats don’t come back to

port just because one person is green at the gills and puking his guts out.

I’ve never had the desire to wear fake eyelashes, be fit for a corset, wear lipstick

or walk in high heels. I don’t want a bikini wax or a cleanse. A colonoscopy

was bad enough!

 

I don’t want to see a play on Broadway, smoke a cigar, learn a new language

or go to a foreign city where they don’t speak English. Like Miami, for instance.

I’ve already put change in someone else’s expired parking meter (not exactly on

purpose).

 

I really don’t want to ride a bull because I never made the buzzer on the 25-cent

horse out in front of the grocery store. I’ll not be jumping out of an airplane anytime

soon, either. Come to think of it, I don’t want to go anywhere. I’ve already visited all 50 states, been to Four Corners, seen the Northern Lights and been frisked at nearly every major American airport. My wife and I flew into the Grand Canyon. (She’ll never forgive

me.) I wouldn’t mind sunbathing in a Speedo on the topless French Riviera, but

French tourism authorities have asked me not to.

 

I don’t want to eat lamb’s brain, pig’s feet, horse roast or dog steaks. If it gets

so bad we have to start eating the pets, someone please shoot me. No escargot,

foie gras, dim sum, fugu or sashimi for me, because I never eat anything I

can’t pronounce. I already hold a world record for eating the most cherries …

and my Grandma spent the last years of her life cleaning up the mess.

 

On second thought, there is something I wouldn’t mind doing: Dying at age

100 while asleep and dreaming of those babes on the French Riviera.

 

The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not

necessarily those of Farm World. Readers may log on to www.LeePittsbooks.com to

order any of Lee Pitts’ books. Those with questions or comments for Lee may write

to him in care of this publication.