Cracker Dog with BB’s

Who are these people with “no regrets?”

I have a million regrets, and they range from wearing a dorky outfit to an event last year to hanging up on my mother to throwing my kids out of the house. The underdone Thanksgiving turkey would make this list, but I already talked about it earlier this week.

I regret losing my temper when I shouldn’t have and not losing it when I should have. I regret not telling a colleague who’d I’d advantaged by bringing on a nonprofit board and setting him up to be president that his quick and very harsh criticism of me once he was president was uncalled for, inappropriate, and fucked up.

I regret that I didn’t speak loud enough at the beginning of last week’s emceeing gig.

This is crazy.

It’s not like I’m a little flower or something. I’m a pretty tough cookie. Sort of.

Today, on our walk, I asked my husband for the tenth time, “Did I did an okay job at the event last week?” “Yes,” he answered, “More than okay. You did a great job.” Then I asked him if he would tell me if it was just an okay job and he said yes. Then I asked if he’d tell me if I did a bad job and he said, “No.”

So, there is that sliver of potential for regret.

Yesterday, I was preoccupied by all the times I went to happy hour when I should have gone home right after work to get my little girl from the babysitter’s. This was a very long time ago, but still seemed like a mistake that has never been righted.

I sound miserable but I’m not. I’m actually pretty happy.

It’s just that I have all these historical episodes that roll around in my head like, my brother used to say, “BB’s in a bare room.” It’s amazing all those BB’s can roll around in there while I’m driving or sitting in a meeting, purporting to be wise and helpful.

“That’s cracker dog,” my husband would say, borrowing a phrase from All Creatures Great and Small.

I am cracker dog with BB’s. Extra strength.