Neil Gaiman's Journal

So Holly couldn't decide, and she couldn't decide, and she couldn't decide. The two schools are, as far as she is concerned, both perfect. Even the e-mails that came in from Bryn Mawr or Smith students and alumni were all from people saying "I went to --" or "I'm at --" Bryn Mawr or Smith "and it's wonderful". Nobody wrote about either to say "this place is evil, keep away". Even my own simple, straightforward, possibly brilliant and at any rate fatherly suggestion, of "Er, why don't you go the cheaper one, then?" was foiled when it became clear they were within about $100 of each other.

"This is ridiculous," said Holly, exasperated. "It's getting to the point where I might as well just fill out both applications, take them to the mailbox, close my eyes and post one. Then I'd only find out which place I was going to when the info packet came."

"Well," I said, "If you did that, you'd need a loyal accomplice to destroy the other envelope, the one you didn't post, and not tell you which one it was."

There was a long pause.

"That would solve all my problems, wouldn't it?" she said.

"And add some uncertainty and adventure to the world," I agreed.

"Oh good," she said, with a sort of wicked delight creeping into her voice. "I'll do that then."

She'll take two filled-out application envelopes to the post office tomorrow, close her eyes and post one. She'll find out which one she actually posted several weeks from now. And in the meantime, I have a daughter who's going to Bryn Mawr, or Smith, and I have no idea which. Either way, I couldn't be prouder.