Last night I ran into my neighbor, whose grade-school son goes to a so-called top-tier school nearby. She’s a nice enough woman and a friendly neighbor, and I like chatting with her. She asked about the preschool process for us.

“We got into school B! We were kind of favoring school A but we got waitlisted so…eh. I’m very happy. It’s a wonderful place and I really liked the director.”

“OH, school A. That is a WONDERFUL school.”

“Yes, yes it is. But we didn’t get in.”

“You know we weren’t going to go to preschool at all when my son was two. But then you know, school A called US. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Wait…they just bypassed their waitlist of like 100 kids and called you?”

“I guess so. They BEGGED us to go. BEGGED us. I don’t even know who recommended us but I spent ages on the phone with the director until we finally agreed to go. Isn’t she the best?”

“I liked her, yes…but we’re not going to school A. We’re going to school B.”

“School A was just the best experience of a lifetime. We can’t say enough wonderful things about it. Wow, too bad we didn’t know you were applying there. They absolutely LOVED my son. But don’t worry, I know school B will be great too.”

“Um, thanks.”

This morning, slipped under my door…a copy of a two-page thank you note written to director of school A after her son graduated kindergarten, gushing about how instrumental the experience had been in her child’s life, how fabulous each and every teacher was, how “the magical light that emanates from school A will forever shine in us.”

Oy. New York.