I was with a friend and some acquaintances at the playground the other day, and my friend was mentioning that her sister had just chaperoned the French Club trip.

“Oh, where did they go?” I asked.

“Uh, to France,” one of my acquaintances chimed in with an amused tone that signaled the absurdity of my question. Where else would the French Club go?

Well, my high school didn’t have trips to France. We had field trips to fish hatcheries and the Pacific Science Center, and our big 8th grade trip was an overnight to Long Beach. I asked where the French Club had traveled because in my mind it was absurd to assume that they had gone to France. Who takes groups of high schoolers to France?

Later that weekend I was at an open house with my husband, looking at real estate in our neighborhood.

“Oh, is this the pantry?” I asked as I approached a big set of cabinet doors.

“No, that’s the refrigerator,” the realtor responded with eyebrows slightly raised. His tone let me know that he had now written me off as a potential buyer. How can someone who can’t even recognize a high-end refrigerator clad in cabinetry afford this nice home?

It’s weird living my adult life in a new location and new tax bracket. To some extent, I will always be a stranger in a strange land who can never quite master the cues of my foreign home.

Maybe my kids will go on a school trip to France. Maybe someday I will abandon my $10 cat earrings for something with large diamonds and the realtors will start offering me champagne and great interest rates.

I think deep down I’ll always be wowed by rich people refrigerators and high school trips to Europe.