By Clint Younts
Last week, my wife and I celebrated our 42nd wedding anniversary. Oh, don’t go congratulating me; I don’t deserve a lot of credit. It was my wife who married a wild-eyed cowboy and tolerated me for over four decades. I suppose she might claim to have domesticated this ol’ polecat along the way, and she might be right. Anyhow, I have 42 years of blissful marriage under my belt and have nary one regret for saying “I do” back in June of 1980. But today’s column isn’t about “I do” but my list of “I don’ts”.
I don’t know what’s so interesting on one’s phone that makes people completely ignore others at the dinner table.
I don’t like hard seltzers. Most taste like medicine I had to take as a child to help me poop.
I don’t like that hick hop country music coming out of Nashville these days. I’ve heard better sound coming from a bawling calf.
I don’t own an assault rifle. I figure if I can’t hit a feral pig with just one shot, I shouldn’t even own a gun.
I don’t mind getting my annual physical, but it bothers me when my doctor giggles during my prostate examination.
I don’t like driving on the same road with idiots and rude drivers. And I don’t think they teach today’s kids in Driver’s Ed how to maneuver a 4-way stop. I know for a fact I wasn’t taught how to maneuver through a roundabout. I’ll drive 30 miles out of my way to avoid those things.
I don’t mind the Texas heat as long as I’m chest-deep in the gulf off the shore of Port Aransas.
I don’t understand the logic behind an anti-vaxxer saying she doesn’t want poison put in her body and then lights up a cigarette.
I often don’t know what day of the week it is, but occasionally know what month it is. While I’m on this subject, allow me to wish all y’all a happy Memorial Day.
I don’t really care what goes on with the Royal Family. If I want to keep up with a dysfunctional family, I’ll watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians.
I don’t like beer crafted with fruits and vegetables. It’s okay to squeeze in a lime but I sure don’t want a cold beer brewed with kumquats or persimmons.
I don’t much like talking about politics. I’ve been asked if I’m a republican or democrat. Depending on who’s running, I’ve been known to switch parties like a college freshman during fraternity rush week.
I don’t cotton much to being advised to lose weight from a doctor big enough to be a sumo wrestler.
I don’t like all the vulgar language on most of the series on Netflix and other streaming channels. I reckon the writers for these shows don’t have a vocabulary consisting of words consisting of five or more letters.
I don’t like hearing the weatherman reporting how hot it got today. When I have melted ear wax on my shoulder, I already know it was hot today.
I don’t follow basketball or baseball much, but if I’m flipping through channels on TV and come across a football game, whether it’s NFL, Canadian, college or even arena football, my butt won’t leave my recliner for hours.
I don’t have enough time or energy to continue telling y’all what I don’t like. My two typing fingers are plumb wore out, and I don’t want to aggravate my arthritis any further. Right now, I do have a hankerin’ for a cold beer, and I do believe it’s cool enough to sit beneath a shade tree. I hope y’all don’t mind.
