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So at dinner last night I said that something was on my list of Things To Do Before I Die, and someone asked me if I really had an actual list.  And I do.  So I thought I’d share some of it with you.  This is, you understand, by no means the complete list.  There’s some things a girl doesn’t share with just anybody.  But here’s a select sampling of what I’d like to do/experience before I go have adventures with God in (hopefully) heaven:

  • Ride on a motorcycle, preferably behind a cute guy, going fast.
  • Ride on a snowmobile, ditto.
  • Dance with John Lindo.
  • Be sent roses, the long stemmed kind that come wrapped in tissue paper in a big white box (that’s the way the girls in old movies got their roses).
  • Drink tea in England (with or without the Queen).
  • Visit the Florida Keys.  Pick key limes.
  • Have a conversation in French.  Be able to understand it.
  • Dance in high heels, preferably without falling over.
  • Go backpacking in the mountains.  Sleep under the stars.
  • Have a cute guy greet me in the morning with “Buon giorno, Principessa!” ala Life Is Beautiful.
  • Visit the markets in India.  Buy saris and spices.
  • Surf.  Not looking ridiculous would be nice, but not necessary.
  • Visit John Paul II’s grave.
  • Write a book.
  • See my book published.
  • Receive a serious marriage proposal.  Proposals made while being filmed or while the guy is drunk do not count!
  • Train a bird to eat out of my hand.

And that’s as much as I’m prepared to share just now.

So apparently I am a Giggle Bear.  I was told so yesterday.  I didn’t know there was such a thing as a Giggle Bear before.  Giggle Bear.  Really.  Who calls people Giggle Bears anymore?  Good Lord.  It’s ridiculous.  And really rather wonderful.  It’s almost as good as the time I got called Girly Girl (as in, “What do you think you’re doing, girly girl.”).  Giggle Bear!  Good grief.  So awesome.