Regrets? Oui.

Hello. Welcome to the internationally celebrated Weekend Gene Pool, in which we ask you for personal anecdotes to which we will react next week. In return, we entertain you with stories of our own. This is our sacred pledge.

Today’s question was proposed anonymously in the last Gene Pool. The writer wrote:

Q: The other day I found myself singing along with "Non, je ne regrette rien" in my original French and at the top of my voice. What !? Like you never sing along with Edith Piaf ? It’s the famed French chanteuse's anthem about regretting nothing ("No, I regret nothing") and moreover, wiping away the past. Easier sung than done, of course. Having momentarily fortified myself mentally, reality took over and I fell into a funk. Nothing that prevented me from having an extra Krispy Creme Original Glazed Doughnut, mind. But the crumbs of the past were there amidst the crumbs. Any regrets (other than starting a Substack blog), you care to tell us about ? Either something you did, or didn’t do.

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It’s a great idea and that’s going to be today’s challenge. Send us a personal regret. The vital orange button is a bit below. Wait for it.

To get you in the mood, here is “Non, je ne regrette rien,” as performed by Valerie Holt, in the person of Edith Piaf. Ms. Holt is a pro. She works as the horsebacking Queen at Medieval Times in Maryland. She is the daughter of the Empress of The Invitational, and is by leaps and bounds the most talented chanteuse of my acquaintance.

The backstory here is that at 10 am. on Friday, I asked Valerie in an email if there was any remote chance that, in a few measly hours, she could record herself performing "Non, je ne regrette rien" in French as Edith Piaf. Valerie’s instant response, was, and I am quoting directly and completely, “You want I should wear an outfit?” She produced this, literally, in 90 minutes. She speaks only limited French.

I should say, just so alls of you understand, that I first met and admired Ms. Holt when she was about a week old.

Whew.

Calm down. Take a sip of wine. Compose yourself.

So, here’s my story of regret. I have written about it at least once before:

In 1977, I was living in Lansing, Michigan, working in the Detroit Free Press Capitol bureau. One Friday, back before kids, when you could still do spontaneous things, wife and I decided to drive to Chicago, just like that. And we did. We left very early in the morning, and arrived around 7 p.m. It was very cold, below freezing. We stopped in a cafe on the edge of Old Town, for a glass of wine. The whole place was the size of a large living room. There was a tiny stage that was basically the size of a suitcase, with a microphone. It turns out they featured live music, which would. begin in about an hour. They had a list of the three performers. The first act was some guy with a weird-sounding name.

We were tired. We decided to wait for the opening act, but then we realized that we had lost an hour in the time-zone confusion, and it would take two hours for the act to come onstage, not one. So we left to get to our hotel.

Elvis Costello. In 1977. Playing alone. Guitar and amp. In, basically, a living room.

That’s my biggest regret.

Send your regrets here. Funny is good. Poignant is good. We will deal with them next week.

Okay, here is Valerie, many years ago, barely an adult, performing La Vie En Rose.