Edith Piaf had no regrets. Frank Sinatra had too few to mention.
Dave Wilcox, on the other hand, has got plenty. He ponders them mournfully as he sits in the doctor’s waiting room.
Three packs of cigarettes a day since he was fifteen, that’s a good place to start. Way too much booze. The exercise bicycle that he only sat on twice before removing it to the attic to make way for the new fifty two inch smart TV. The gym membership that his wife got him for his fiftieth birthday which he has never used, he still isn’t sure where the gym actually is.
Far and away the biggest regret Dave has at the moment, as his appointment gets ever closer, is the stripper he met in Vegas last November. He had been there for a work conference and she had cost him more than he had lost on the slots.
Now it appeared that she might have cost him way more than that. Dave deeply fears that what had happened in Vegas has not stayed in Vegas. The receptionist calls out his name and Dave sighs, about to find out had much trouble he is in.