Dear Betsy,
Mother and I were sorry to learn from your academic advisor that your apprenticeship to a maker of fine Swiss chocolates has come to naught. As you know, failure to complete this Independent Study Project jeopardizes your graduation from Hampshire next spring. We hope you have not paid January rent on your apartment in Zug and that you will join us here in Charlottesville for Christmas.
Let me hazard a guess as to how you may have passed this morning in Switzerland and then allow me to tell you how I spent mine. I presume you awakened late and obviously did not report to chocolatier Herr Zimmer, though he is your primary reason for being in Europe. (I don't need to remind you that your difficulties with authority stretch back to ninth-grade summer when you put Mrs. Cuthbertson's goldfish in a blender after she commented negatively on your weeding prowess.)
Perhaps you then made your way to an Internet cafe at around noon, smoked a pack of cigarettes (we've asked you to stop), did not email Mother and me (we've asked you to start), and did email Willy Duffy (we've asked you to stop). We saw Willy dining the other evening at Chez Robert with his parents while wearing a baseball cap.
We've eagerly awaited details of exciting journeys you may have undertaken since beginning your adventure abroad. After all, we purchased you a 60-day Eurail Pass only to receive upon your arrival a request for funds to buy an Interail Pass since "Eurail doesn't cover Romania." Mother imprudently wired this money, but as of this writing I have no reason to believe you've set foot in that nation. (Your intention to spend a five-day break in early November in "France, Italy, Spain, and Sweden" left us baffled. Unless, of course, you were travelling with Bruce Springsteen and his band).
So I assume you did not use either of your rail passes today. You did, however, use all three of your credit cards yesterday (I received an alarming call from Visa this morning alerting me to "unusually heavy activity in the Zug region").
Maybe you treated yourself to the same sort of meal you apparently enjoyed Tuesday (Thai Brasserie: 165 Swiss francs). Must you eat Asian food in Zug? The amount also seems exorbitant for lunch for one (Mother hopes you're making friends; I don't if it means you're buying them lunch).
I devoted my morning to hunching over a yellow legal pad, endeavoring to calculate how much we've spent on you since the first of this year. The amount is staggering (at least to me and others who dwell on planet Earth): $184,362.
I once heard you comment to Jacob Simonton, "Since Hampshire costs more than Princeton, it must be better." That remark rankled at the time, but I kept my silence. Betsy, Hampshire costs more than Princeton not because it is better, but because it has a substantially smaller endowment.
One out of every 2.4 dollars I earn currently subsidizes you. The school taxes in Charlottesville are crippling but your inability to gain access to magnet programs for the gifted meant that you never attended public school. Your interest in riding was heartwarming; your insistence on buying a pony in Ireland was not. I must put it plain: raising you has been occasionally rewarding, often challenging, sometimes exasperating, but above all, it has been expensive.
In your last email (which we received some time ago), you mentioned that you "do not like Virginia." This is a very broad statement and I'd like you to elaborate. I realize that John Grisham resides in Charlottesville and Mother informs me that you've never taken to the author or the town. Apparently, you don't consider him a "real writer." Approximately 400 Americans earn a decent living writing books each year; John Grisham has sold more than 60 million copies of his work. He is as real a writer as exists, Betsy. Furthermore, as he's never had any contact withour family save for a book-signing two years ago, I'm not sure his presence in the area is justification for not spending Christmas with us. So, please, indulge me, and tell me if John Grisham is keeping you from us. I doubt whether he or we would consider moving, but it would be nice to know.
I now must ask: What are your plans for the next semester? You mentioned a possible internship at a "Rangoon lunatic asylum" under the auspices of a program run through the Women's Studies/Psychology joint major at Bard. For your information, Rangoon is now known as Yangon, lunatics are currently referred to as "mental patients," and asylums are these days called "institutions." I don't imagine you know the proper terms for any of these in Burmese, but am sure you will become familiar with them over time.
I assume your accommodation costs in Yangon will be considerably lower than those in Zug. Food may be a problem: most subsist on rice. For someone accustomed to a bowl of fresh macadamia nuts on her bureau, this may come as a shock.
A further shock: contrary to your wishes, you will not occupy a "one-bedroom in Greenwich Village with a garden" after graduation. Mrs. Cuthbertson was right: you're a crappy gardener. You will live north of 86th street and east of Second Avenue with four other girls of my choosing (not Willy Duffy) in a two-bedroom apartment with paper-thin walls and poor light. If someone has to sleep on the living-room sofa, it will be you.
I strongly urge you to return home for Christmas. Bring Mother a box of Herr Zimmer's truffles and make sure it is gift-wrapped. I don't care how you obtain this, but if I see a charge on my card, so help me God.
Love,
Dad
