Richard Cohen’s tattoo analogy reminded me of something. Back when I went to the gym every day, I had some pretty impressive biceps (if I do say so myself) and a buddy tried to convince me to get one of those bristling barbed-wire tattoos on my arm. Fortunately the expense and my phobia of needles prevailed, and I didn’t get it. It also occurred to me that while a tattoo like that would be okay at the time, I wouldn’t have 18-inch arms forever, and what would it look like when I was 70…or 55? So…

What was the most foolish thing you did that you thought was a good idea at the time but now look back and say “What was I thinking?”

I didn’t get the tattoo, but in the winter of 1976, I did get a perm. The less said about that the better, but suffice it to say that instead of looking like Peter Frampton (and I’m not blond), I looked like I was wearing a bird’s nest on my head. Two weeks later I got a really short haircut.