Truly, if I knew that the world was ending at approximately tomorrow afternoon here's what I'd (not) do:
Not study for my tests that I wouldn't take.
Chew all that gum just sitting there (waiting for my current pack to be emptied half-piece after torn half-piece) chewing whole pieces, many at a time, bubble blowing til my jaw hurt.
Call as many long distance phone numbers as possible to talk with dear friends seven hours ahead so as to not waste any night hours whatsoever.
Take a shower; a long luxurious one.
Wear my red high heels.
Ride in a taxi. Anywhere.
Maybe I'd just take my boyfriend to Vegas and marry him. (He wouldn't be interested in gambling that night. Or else.) I'm not too huge on sinning, so yeah, I'd make the effort. After all, there are things worse than a would-be death tomorrow.
Last meal: Papa John's. (Definitely wouldn't be starting that "Flat Belly Diet" book)
Surely I'd cook something. Ah yes, the chocolate covered peanut butter rice krispie ice cream bars idea I had. That for sure.
I'd go somewhere really dark at night (far from the lights of the Strip) and watch the stars. It's true, they don't do much for needing watching, but if it was nearly the end of our spot in the universe as we view it, there could be a great show. If not, husband, pizza, ice cream, gum bubbles and star ceilings never were a bad mix.
I'd break as much stuff as made me feel indestructible. Especially my cell phone. Well, just before the end.
Then I'd sit down and listen to my favorite classical music as the world melted like a plastic cup in the fire so I wouldn't be breathless and suspicious in the afterlife. It would be as if I'd been there all along.
I'm kinda in the mood for a good excuse to be irresponsible.
The End.
