I wouldn’t like to be defined by what I cannot do; although, it won’t trouble me greatly to be defined by what I will not do, the activities I have rejected.
I won’t beg. At least I won’t beg for anything on my own account. I could be persuaded to beg for mercy for another. I can’t think of an abundance of people who would qualify as anothers.
I won’t have cosmetic surgery. Even if a gun was held to my head, even if I were shot. I’d rather just lie there and die.
I won’t get married a 3rd time. There is nothing romantic in imagining growing old together, with someone new, when you’re almost there. I’m not young. I don’t have a burning desire to be a nurse.
I won’t take a tour. I will be the one telling people where to go.
I won’t attend funerals for people I don’t like. I don’t care what people will think. People who are capable of thinking will realize I’m not a hypocrite.
I won’t wear clothes designed for youth. I look silly enough when I’m age appropriate. I don’t need to look silly AND tacky.
I won’t wear anything that is not comfortable. Being covered is as far as I take public service. Aestheticism is not my job.
I won’t eat food I don’t enjoy. Possibly this will apply even under famine conditions.
I won’t read books that are not captivating. I won’t hesitate to stop halfway through. A book is not a commitment; it is entertainment.
I will not surrender; to anyone, especially not the aliens.
If I am to be remembered for what I refused to do then an obituary would look something like this-
Elroy Jones refused to beg for cosmetic surgery after she was shot in the face for denying the attentions of an aspiring third husband who asked her to take a tour to attend Dick Cheney’s funeral. In her later years she wouldn’t wear youthful attire, demanding comfort over beauty. She was renowned for starving nearly to death during a famine when she boycotted the work of Harold Robbins for its vacuous content. She didn’t surrender.