Oops. Your Modcloth trigger finger did it again, purchasing (with a not-very-well-thought-out click) a pair of flats that may or may not fit. Or you realize that "professional development course" you took amounted to 10 hours of paid chitchat, like a really boring escort service. Buyer’s remorse inflicts a special breed of pain—with it comes the shame of having not controlled yourself. But here’s the thing: The money’s gone. It’s spent. Think of how that verb—spent!—also means dead, and move on. Should they fit, enjoy the flats. Or else, pass them along to a shoe-challenged friend and transform a fit of buyer’s remorse into a moment of largesse.