Things I Cannot Have ...

In every man's life there are things he cannot have. For most, it is but an unspoken inner understanding. For me, however, there's an actual list -- and assembly is in progress by the namby-pamby unimaginative kill-joy who is the love of my life ...

Mostly, mention of any of them prompts a quick "You're not getting that ... so don't even think about it." Heck, I get in trouble if I even appear to be trying to weasel my way into any of the following:

• A chainsaw. It's a shame. Think of the things I could cut. Like the car in half. Ooops.
• A Snickers Bar and Mt. Dew for Breakfast. One can never be toooo perky in the morning in my opinion, but alas ...
• A shaved head. I think she fears I would be tooo handsome for my own good. True.
• Picture in picture TV. I could tooo watch two baseball games, court tv, bowling, and a kung-fu movie all at once.
• My own checkbook. Hey, I'll remember to write down the *&^%$ details this time...
• A tatoo. Not the little dwarf guy on Fantasy Island. The permanent mark thing. Too bad, too, because correctly placed, "This End Up" would come in handy on occassion.
• Grappling hooks. How else am I gonna get up on the neighbor's roof? That's her point, I guess.
• A nailgun. So I asked the Home Depot guy about the range on one of them bad boys. Doesn't prove anything.
• Tatoo. The little dwarf guy on Fantasy Island. He'd be perfect when I lose the remote, but it seems there's an indentured servant law to be considered when procuring a midget.
• My own spaceship. Something about having to go through NASA for any attempt to return to my home planet.
• A flamethrower. I just want it to perk up the campfire a bit. Some people should relax.
• A pet monkey. It might offend the cat. I hardly think so.
• All four ESPN channels. I would too get off the couch. I'd have to -- I'd run out of snacks, eventually.
• A motorcycle. This is the mother of all no no's, the inspiration of the list. I'll get the spaceship first, I think ...
• And the catch all for a list in progress ... Anything to which I attach the question, "Now how could that be a bad idea?" ... Bummer.

And yet, I love her dearly.

But to be fair ... Lest folks think oppression is a one way street, I offer the list of things that SHE cannot have, authorized by firm and imperial decree of the husband:

• A clothesline. Just don't be ridiculous. We have a dryer. Hanging clean wet clothes out in the midst of the neighbors and the backyard wiffleball field is just begging for trouble. Use the dryer.
• A humus pile. (A compost heap for the politically correct, I suppose) I grew up with a pile of rotting remains in the sink waiting for me to schlep the bannana peels and other delicacies down behind the barn so they could rot and attract flies. Never again. Never again.

Reciprocatively, it's not too much to ask.