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Everyone has a list titled "Things I Will Never Do Again." These are personal experiences that ended so horribly the mere idea of attempting them again is emotionally scarring.

Items on such a list might include "I Will Never Marry Another NASCAR Fan," or "I Will Not Drive 500 Miles in a Car with a Political Activist Again," or even "Never Again Will I Touch Something Next to a Sign That Says, 'Warning! Danger of Electrical Shock.' "

My list of "[Stuff] I Will Never Do Again" currently consists of 39 items. I would tell you what all of the them are, but 11 are things so disastrous that I refuse to even think about them. Two others are things Sonny dared me to do.

Most notable of the two is, "Stand way over there and tell me what this sounds like when it goes past your head." Never again.

I will tell you that No. 22 is "I Will Never Again Go on a Family Cruise."

This vow was made three years ago, after a family cruise to Honduras during which my brother-in-law got the flu, my sister broke her leg, the Old Man got lost in the passageway outside his cabin, and the rest of the family played cards endlessly.

As soon as we returned to port, I knelt on the Galveston dock, drew a pentagram in my own blood, and made a pact with Satan. I pledged my soul to the Unholy Master should I ever set foot again on a cruise ship with any family member other than my wife.

It's a good thing my soul isn't worth much. My wife just told me that we are going on a Disney Cruise with some of our grandchildren. A week of sunshine, fun and special bonding.

Me: "Are you crazy? What about my eternal soul?"

Her: "Stop being so selfish. This is about making good memories for the kids."

Resistance collapsed when she said the pact I'd made with Satan in Galveston was redundant. I was already damned for other stuff. The best I could possibly hope for was to share the same king-size barbecue grill with Sonny.

Maybe I should look at the bright side. The voyage of the damned embarks from Orlando in less than two weeks. That should be plenty of time to have a heart attack or a stroke or contract a major case of shingles.

The first family cruise consisted entirely of adults — parents, siblings and spouses. It was bad enough.

Several times we had to go find our patriarch, who'd insisted on following members of the crew around to let them know that he was a veteran of Vietnam and would help man the guns if it became necessary.

Worse was the time he wandered up onto a clothing-optional deck, approached several topless young women, and tried to strike up a conversation about the LDS Church.

Then there were my siblings, each of them almost as strange as me. A broken leg, flu quarantine, death-march shore excursions and unhappy reminiscing.

Hell sounds almost inviting compared to that.

If it was that bad with adults, I didn't even want to think about cruising with children, one of whom is a teenager. It will be a nightmare of noise, frantic behavior and posing for selfies with Mickey Mouse and Donald &$%*#! Duck.

Things changed last night. A little.

My oldest granddaughter hugged me and said she was glad Grammy and I will be on the cruise because she loved us and we are so much fun. Then she smiled.

Hmm. Some things are worth my heavily mortgaged soul.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley