It’s said that every choice we make removes a multitude of other options from the board. Here, on the eve of my 50th birthday, is the last in a series, the things I’ll never do.
1. I’ll never grow out of this difficult phase.
2. I’ll never twist again, like we did last summer.
3. I’ll never get to the bottom of this 5-gallon jar of pickles I bought at WalMart for just $2.98.
4. I’ll never write The Great American Novel. Or even a serviceable Bolivian one.
5. I’ll never escape these ghosts of 3am.
6. I’ll never be a real dentist.
7. I never was — and I surely never will be again — as irresistible to women as I was during the twelve months I was engaged to my wife. Women in laundromats, women in Arctic rescue expeditions, women handcuffed in the backs of police cars, you name it, they were drawn to me like moths to a porchlight. You can’t tell me women don’t have a radar for men in commitment mode. They sense it immediately and THEY MUST HAVE IT.
8. “… eight, EIGHT, I forget what eight was for, but, nine, nine, NINE …”
9. I’ll never have a sidekick or a minion.