Regrets.

I just finished eating a cinnamon crunch bagel from Panera. Do I regret my choice? Yes, very much so. Was it because it tasted terrible? No, definitely not. It was quite glorious in fact - the crunchy cinnamon stickiness on the outside, the chewy bagel texture, and, let's not forget, the fluffy honey walnut cream cheese. Ohhh, I regret my choice. Not because I licked my fingers after I finished or looked for any crumbs I may have missed, but because I'm pretty sure my thighs are becoming a little too friendly with each other and it could very well be due to the fact that they love cinnamon crunch bagels as much as I do. I'd really prefer that they not have anything in common and that they keep their distance from each other. Literally. It could also be due to the fact that while my thighs should have been trimming down as I pedaled through miles of rough terrain this weekend, they instead sat on the couch, laid on a pool chair, and sat in a car. They did go for a walk on Saturday just so I would feel a little less guilty about my laziness, but there was no hiking, biking or rough terrain of any kind. This leads me to my second regret...

I should have ordered a different size. Not of pants, although from reading the previous paragraph you may think after my lazy weekend & cinnamon crunch bagel I may need to start shopping for another size. I sure hope not, unless it's going the opposite direction numerically. That could be possible, as well as guaranteeing my thighs become distant with each other, had I ordered the right size to begin with. The right size mountain bike that is. You see, I ordered it over a week ago - going with the bike pro's recommendation. I waited like a kid counting down the days to Christmas morning. We packed up the car with all the camping gear and drove straight to REI, only to be told it wasn't assembled yet. Disappointment, but with perspective I realized daylight still had many hours ahead and we could kill time for an hour or so to wait for the bike. So, we passed time at the nearest Starbucks while playing Phase10 when I received the anticipated phone call. "Miss Dubes, your bike is ready." The giddyness began to surface once again and we hurridly drove back to REI to claim my prize. I watched as he pulled my beautiful new bike in all its green glory from the bike rack and wheeled it to the counter. He handed me my instruction manual and had me jump on the bike to adjust it for proper sizing, and then he paused. Yes, that's right, he paused. A long, painful "I know-what-he's-going-to-say" pause. "How tall are you?" "About 5'8" More pausing. Oh, please stop pausing. I know what's coming. "I would have gone with a medium," he says. "Why?" I ask. "Well, the distance between your handle bars and torso seems a bit too short, and frankly, the medium is for a height range of 5'6" to 5'10" At this point the words I wanted to say were, "Then why did the other pro tell me to order a small?" but I refrained. I begrudgingly handed back the bike and said, "Okay, let's order a medium." I left the store, receipt in hand for my new bike that will arrive again in a week, and will remain in the store for a week after that...awaiting my arrival home from Colorado. I got in the car and may have pouted, but I won't admit it if I did. I also may have cursed, but only under my breath if I did, because it wasn't Thursday and no matter how heart broken I was, I couldn't break the rules.

Regrets? Yeah, I have them. Mostly the ones that involve bagels.