Part of being human is dealing with regret. It's like the hardest part, for me, of being human. I hate hate hate hate hate that sick feeling of regret. The first time I remember feeling regret (though I didn't know what the word was for it then) was when I stole handfuls of pennies from my sister's (and I don't remember which one) box under her bed. Why I was under her bed in the first place I have no idea (probably a game of hide and seek), but I found literally a treasure trove of pennies. And pennies meant tootsie rolls (one penny) and bazooka gum (three pennies) at Benjamin Franklin. So I reached in and grabbed out handfuls and ran to my room to hide them. And next time we were out, I bought a whole big bag of treats. And the next time and the next time . . . all with handfuls of stolen pennies. Then the sister (and honestly, I still can't remember) pulled out her box and began literally crying about how she had no money. ...