That's the bitch of hindsight, isn't it? Regret, I don't so much bother with. Not often, not in depth, for it seems pointless. What does hit me like a baseball bat to the kneecaps is guilt that I should have known better. But I didn't, and I liked it.
What is vague ole Jill referring to this evening? Many things. Far too many things, in fact.
Ruined, but it's clean. I seem to be growing wiser, at least.