I’m pretty sure I would rather have all my teeth pulled than feel regret (though I’m pretty sure I’d regret that, too). Regret is icky and loathsome and avoiding it is my main motivation for toeing the line, doing what’s right and staying out of jail, not to mention that whole religion thing. (When I think of getting to the other side, it’s not the threat of fire and brimstone that makes me feel weak in the knees, it’s finding out that I was stupid and wrong whereupon I fall to the floor in a puddle of regret). As much as I try my best to stay clear of regrets I still have some:
J’regrette: the photo above featuring myself and The Spouse whilst in our teens (awkwardfamilyphotos.com here we come!) (and, yes, we dressed like that every day. Honest.) I regret posting it, allowing it to be taken, being seen in public like that, but most of all, not getting on the whole vampire bandwagon when the getting was good. Clearly I was jiggy with it (do people still say that?) even back in 1982 when this photo was taken, a year in which I’m willing to bet Stephenie Meyer was too young to watch vampire movies, let alone hang out with scary individuals like those pictured above.
J’regrette: the photo above featuring myself and The Spouse whilst in our teens (awkwardfamilyphotos.com here we come!) (and, yes, we dressed like that every day. Honest.) I regret posting it, allowing it to be taken, being seen in public like that, but most of all, not getting on the whole vampire bandwagon when the getting was good. Clearly I was jiggy with it (do people still say that?) even back in 1982 when this photo was taken, a year in which I’m willing to bet Stephenie Meyer was too young to watch vampire movies, let alone hang out with scary individuals like those pictured above.
J’regrette: Not watching seasons one through four of So You Think You Can Dance. I didn’t get jiggy with that until last week for the season five premiere. It’s not surprising that I love the show—I took years of ballet and was almost as determined to be a dancer as I was to be a writer. Many years of lack-of-talent later, it turns out I love love LOVE watching people try, fail and be humiliated by the judges. I admit to some squirming at first--I’m not utterly heartless. However, squirming soon gave way to a warm glow of pure enjoyment which led to fervent praying that the judges wouldn’t stop the madness before I’d had my fill which very quickly disintegrated into a full lack of decorum. I can now regularly be found pelting popcorn at the T.V. screen, shouting crude directives through a bullhorn and engaging in other bad behavior generally reserved for professional baseball games. (The best part? Watching the losers wallow in regret. Talk about dodging a bullet . . . Ah, sweet relief!)
J’regrette: making the comment in response to an accusation on The Miss D page of Goodreads that the reason I am not and never would be a Jane Austen wannabe is because “Jane Austen is dead”. What the what? Even I don’t get that one. (The author of the accusation removed it out of pity for my obsessive need to clear my name though my response remains. Go figure.)
J’regrette: referring to whales and muumuus in the comment section of this post here. In my defense, once upon a time I had a child in mucho need of whacky-brain-chemistry medication whose young (read: naïve) (or “untried”, “stupid”, “pregnant and hysterical”, whichever suits you best) therapist decided that this child was too young to need actual drugs so all of her problems must be The Mom’s Fault. As a result, my child didn’t get the meds she needed until after I jumped through many fiery hoops whilst juggling miniature poodles with my mouth. Ever since, I have had this unreasonable fear of being held accountable for my kid’s (clearly) inherited chemical imbalances. (Um. Do I need to regret using the phrase “pregnant and hysterical” now?)
J’regrette: making the comment in response to an accusation on The Miss D page of Goodreads that the reason I am not and never would be a Jane Austen wannabe is because “Jane Austen is dead”. What the what? Even I don’t get that one. (The author of the accusation removed it out of pity for my obsessive need to clear my name though my response remains. Go figure.)
J’regrette: referring to whales and muumuus in the comment section of this post here. In my defense, once upon a time I had a child in mucho need of whacky-brain-chemistry medication whose young (read: naïve) (or “untried”, “stupid”, “pregnant and hysterical”, whichever suits you best) therapist decided that this child was too young to need actual drugs so all of her problems must be The Mom’s Fault. As a result, my child didn’t get the meds she needed until after I jumped through many fiery hoops whilst juggling miniature poodles with my mouth. Ever since, I have had this unreasonable fear of being held accountable for my kid’s (clearly) inherited chemical imbalances. (Um. Do I need to regret using the phrase “pregnant and hysterical” now?)
J’regrette: Being such a hot mommy blogger that Christy of A Lil' Welsh Rarebit felt compelled to nominate me as such. Actually, I think she’s got a hinge loose in the attic but if nominating me keeps her calm and not needing an extra dose of her medication, who am I to get in the way of good mental health? (JK, Christy!) Truthfully now, folks, I think Christy is totally sweet (as well as totally insane) to choose this particular category (or any category) and she is now my new e-BFF so there ya go. If you feel inclined and have nothing better to do and are bored out of your mind and are stark raving mad to boot, you could go vote for me (and tell your friends!). Like Christy says, there’s lots of Mormon bloggers out there (and we all know how much clout we Mormon voters have—remember Cjane winning for Best Major Blogger? Yeah). What Christy doesn’t realize is that many of the other gals nominated for hottest mommy blogger are also Mormon (including Cjane) and they are wayyyyyy hotter (and younger) than I.
J’regrette. (But I'm not bitter or anything . . .)
J’regrette. (But I'm not bitter or anything . . .)
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