"Regrets," Sinatra croons over my ridiculously old JBL speakers, "I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention." Which leads me to this conclusion: Ol' Blue Eyes never had to write a monthly column. If he did, he would know that when you're forced to fill a 1,300-word space 12 times a year, everything bears mentioning.

I stand in the produce section wondering what a pomelo is and whether I can get a column out of it. I see a woman trip in front of Bloomingdale's, and (instead of rushing to help her up) I begin spinning it into a piece on the perils of stiletto heels.

Regrets? I've had a few, and I'll be more than happy to mention every last one of them if they can be labeled "Lisa Kogan's March column."