Aunt Alice applauds your recitation. You feel wonderful — until you see Mother sadly clearing the remains of the tea.
Your heart sinks. You don’t feel like a dutiful daughter at all.
Time passes. When you’re 17, a letter arrives, bearing your name in elegant script. Your stomach swoops. It’s an invitation to a soirée: an evening party.
Boring! No one ever wants to discuss politics with you. But if you refuse, your parents will be upset. Maybe you should pretend the invitation never came.
Do you steel yourself and attend the soirée, or hide the invitation?