"I told my dad I almost did it," she said. "And he told me 'If you put a hole in your nose, you lose $10,000.'"
I had three tattoos by then, and before the first my father had threatened to kick me out of the house. I knew he wouldn't. That she had a similar challenge and balked when a specific, quantifiable consequence could be issued bothered me to no end.
My issues came to a breaking point when I went with her to her family's Thanksgiving celebration in Philadelphia. We drove there in her car, and my nerves about meeting her parents and fitting in with people so far above my self-perceived situation hung over us like storm clouds for the whole trip. I teased her about her childhood cotillion training, sure, but I was really just terrified that I would make some terrible, low-class mistake and embarrass myself.
I'm ashamed to say that for most of that visit, I was insufferable. It was never in public view of her family (who were incredibly gracious, lovely hosts of course), but in what little time we had alone I was sullen and silent, pouting because I felt overwhelmed by the mere idea of my presence among these impressive, educated, wealthy people.