Because NOT Doing Sparks More Regret Than Doing

A couple months ago, I had my nieces over for a slumber party and shopping trip to The Grove. As we walked toward the entrance of Abercrombie & Fitch, not only was I hit in the face by a wave of store cologne (seriously, when did retailers decide to start assaulting your nasal cavities like that?) I was also blinded by the fleshy six-pack of a young Abercrombie model standing near the doorway.

The nieces became squirrelly immediately.

There was a photographer standing next to the model and when she asked us if we wanted our picture taken with him, I knew the answer. I could have easily said "no thanks" and proceeded on with the girls in tow—they were pretty embarrassed and wanted to just continue shopping. But I knew the feeling of regret that would come with NOT taking advantage of an opportunity like that.

So we posed and smiled; the girls giggling nervously. The poor nineteen-year-old hunk shuddered when I put my arm around him and my frigid elderly hand made contact with his warm, muscular back.

I have the picture on my desk and it makes me laugh every time I see it.

When I was in high school, my aunt took my cousins and me to see a stage production of Grease. I can't even remember where we went or how old I actually was, but I do remember that when given the chance to go up and dance to 50s music on stage, I was to shy and embarrassed to go. And it bugs me to this day.

I hate having regrets.

It is this kind of life experience and emotional wisdom that propelled me into sewing caveman costumes for Mr. W's and my anniversary trip last weekend. I knew if I didn't do it, I would regret it for all eternity.

Aside from the uncomfortable mattress and overly stuffed pillows, the Caveman Room did not disappoint. With rock walls, floor and ceiling, and a leopard-skin bedspread, it definitely had a Flintstonian feel.

Behind the TV, we even had a lovely in-room waterfall. It would have come in handy the evening before (we were staying in a different room that night) when the couple two doors down from us screamed at each other and slammed their door a dozen times around midnight. We could have used the running water to drown out the sound. Or perhaps try to drown them.

I was most impressed by the two wood-carved clubs that rested in iron holsters on either side of the bed. When we first checked into the room, I went to the bathroom and when I came out, Mr. W was lying on the bed with a club slung over his shoulder.

The Caveman Room's greatest amenity, however, may be its motion-sensor waterfall urinal. The Madonna Inn is actually famous for its waterfall urinal in the main lobby. But lucky us, we had our very own.

In spite of his feelings of mortification and possibly sheer terror, Mr. W humored my craziness and agreed to wear his outfit (after a whole day of wine tasting). I think deep down, he knew if he didn't, he would regret it forever.

Although we took several pictures together, wielding our wooden clubs, here is the only photographic evidence I have been authorized to share:

  

As my mother would say, "TMI." Happy Friday! Don't not-do anything you'd regret this weekend!