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.