My sister told me this story:
The Extroverted Feeler is 14. It is 1978.
She is going on her first date. The boy will be walking to her house to get her. She gets dressed up and puts on a little make up. Her mother doesn't mind make up. Her mother is an artist. Her mother is either dressed in ink stained t-shirt and blue jeans or in a velvet dress with gold crocheted collar and a dragon pin hiking the skirt asymmetrically to her upper thigh.
The Extroverted Feeler rebels re the artist by dressing very conservatively. Helps her at school. She has one lacoste shirt, gator on the left chest, and she smooths it lovingly. She goes downstairs. He'll be here soon.
Her father and his friend T are in the living room. They smell of alcohol.
"Date, huh?" says her father. He starts laughing. They both start laughing, goofy. The Extroverted Feeler tenses up. This is the stage she hates second worst. Worst is the stage when he says "You can tell me anything." and cries. All she wants then is to get the fuck out of the room. But the laughing goofy makes no sense stage is a horror too. And the boy will see it.
"Hey, we should scare him," says her father.
"Yeah!" says his friend T.
"Let's threaten to beat him up! Let's ask what his intentions are! Let's meet him at the door with a shotgun!"
The Extroverted Feeler is at the door. She sees the boy, he is just coming down the sidewalk.
"Bye!" she says, hurrying out the door. She scurries down the walk, gulping her tears, and intercepts the boy before he turns up the walk. She smiles brilliantly at him. "Let's go!" she says, and hurries him away, quickly, quickly.
I was in Denmark as an exchange student.