Yesterday, I incorrectly stated that Mike was a “dickhead.” This statement was made to a group of people that Mike was not among; however, he was present at the party. Although Mike has a tendency, to break social engagements and use his friends for material and social gain, and although ever since he was called to the bar he’s become incredibly self-important yet also very boring, he is not a “dickhead.” I regret the error.
Last Tuesday, I incorrectly concluded that my glass of orange juice (from concentrate) would be less thick and pulpy and more refreshing if I cut it with an equal amount of water. It was not. The amount of water added was too great and the orange juice tasted weak. The experience of drinking it was unpleasant, although in the end it did quench my thirst. I regret the error.
A month ago, I borrowed a friend’s car and, as a gesture, filled the tank. Instead of filling it with premium, I incorrectly filled it with regular and my friend could tell just by driving it, even though I lied repeatedly, assuring him that it was filled with premium. The episode strained our relationship and the ensuing tension between us still has not gone away. I regret the error.
When I was in grade ten, I incorrectly believed that Leslie Davies was not interested in making out when we spent at least two hours talking in Dave Jefferson’s sister’s bedroom (it was Dave Jefferson’s party) with the lights off and the door closed, both of us lying on the bed. A conversation between her best friend and my best friend on the subsequent Wednesday proved the error of my belief, but the opportunity was never again repeated. This was the first in a long, tragically repeating history of missed romantic and sexual opportunities in which I have been consistently blind to the signs of female erotic interest. I regret the error.
When I was 11, I was playing catch with my brother. We were using a hardball, even though my mother forbade hardballs due to their being dangerous. I remember one throw leaving his hand and arcing through the air, passing above the rose garden and hanging there, spinning, as though God had pressed pause, until it suddenly smacked me full on in the lips and broke by right front tooth. Since then, I’ve had an artificial right front tooth, the colour of which does not quite match the rest of my teeth. I regret the error.
When I was a child I incorrectly believed that I would one day marry my babysitter. My babysitter now has three teen-aged children of her own and is a school teacher in a small alpine village in Switzerland. My marriage prospects remain lean. I regret the error.
Earlier, I incorrectly stated that Mike was not a “dickhead.” Mike is a dickhead. A self-important, egotistical, law-talking dickhead. I regret the error.