Growing up a tomboy, I hated the pointy-toed sneakers my mom forced me to wear. I ached for Keds high-tops.

Years later, when as a college junior I giddily found myself holding my very first credit card, I knew exactly what my first purchase would be — and rightly reckoned this was a momentous adult milestone.

But as I signed the credit slip and laced up those high-tops, I had no idea that I'd actually just bought a painful — and costly — learning opportunity: ...

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