Father, father… I know your intentions were good, but my poor fragile ego doesn’t need this. I don’t regret being accepted, but I would like to think admissions made that decision based on my grades, record, etc., as opposed to the platitudes of some wealthy fellow I’ve never even seen. Colleges are supposed to look down on that sort of thing, aren’t they? Besides, the date on the acceptance letter is the same day I contacted admissions again—that is, the day after the incident with the fortuneteller.

So maybe I did get myself accepted myself. Maybe I didn’t unconsciously slide to glory on a pair of unidentified coattails.

And then, maybe I did. This is going to haunt me, and it really shouldn’t. I got what I wanted, so nothing else should matter.

But, alas, it does, and I can only hope the end justifies the means, whatever they were.

Adieu.