I have four regrets in my life:
1. A tattoo of an arrow that starts under my right armpit and runs down my side, past my hip. It’s big, bold, and will most certainly look like a crumbled, smeared watercolor painting when I’m 60;
2. The tattoo I got one Saturday night in Soho during a two-week trip to London circa 2004. This tat-ta-roo on my ankle of a heart the size of a fist looks like it was drawn by a 4-year-old with a permanent marker and underdeveloped motor skills;
3. Letting my parents develop the disposable cameras from that trip. (My mom still can’t look me in the eye.);
4. Dumping my iPhone 5 for the Galaxy 4.