You can count me out. I don't care how fun and amazing and what a once in a lifetime opportunity you say this'll be. You can coax and you can pull but I swear on the liquor soaked heart of my father I am not moving from this spot.

It won't be a fresh, new experience. My soul won't suddenly bloom open like a flower because I tried this. I won't be able to see through time or space.

It's stupid. The whole idea is just stupid. You're asking for trouble, that's what you are doing. Not even asking, you're down on your knees begging for it. Your little tin cup swinging empty.

No, I don't think I'll regret it later, not in a few days, not in a a couple of decades when I'm old and gray and sitting around floating in the should-haves and could-ofs scarfs of regret, not in a thousand years as I crochet sweaters from clouds and look down at you from heaven.

There is no way you are getting me in that paddleboat to drive you to feed those swans.