If somehow we were able to travel around in time--and don't really smart science-y people claim we really can? If so, will someone go back to 1983 and find my dang senior yearbook? Where'd I LEAVE it? Oh, and on your way out of the '80s, please drop me a line about not getting that spiral perm. Thanks.
Anyway, if we were able to travel around in time, here's what I would say to 2003 June.
Dear 2003 June,
First of all, that cell phone you have, the one that's the size of a shoe, will not last that long, so don't go to the mall kiosk and get them to bedazzle it with pink rhinestones. Honest. I mean it. By next year you will turn that flip phone in, and that pink sparkly Eiffel Tower decoration is a goner.
Also, June, your summer of 2013 looks like this:
You'll spend breezy evenings walking your dog and waving at your neighbors. Yes, dude, it is your dog. I KNOW you've wanted a dog forever. Isn't she dignified? Wait'll you smell her.
You have a dog because you have a house. I know! Over there in 2003, houses cost, like, 8 million hundred dollars, and that is because you are in Los Angeles, still, and also because the economy is good. Live it up with that economy, June. Live it up now. Your salary will still not be in 2013 what it was in 2003 in LA.
And yes. You, my dear, do not live in LA anymore. You are in the South, like Scarlett O'Hara and Ouiser and Harper Lee and Otis the town drunk.
You'll sniff your neighbor Peg's magnolias when you walk your dogs (yes, dogs, plural. Let the other dog be a surprise, 2003 June. Really. Just don't think about it), and you'll sit on your front porch with a Mason jar of ice water after, watching the lightning bugs and hearing the world's loudest cicadas.
P.S. Don't eat Peg's gazpacho. Just don't.
Some days, you'll lie by the pool with a nice boy (Let's let the answer to "Where's Marvin?!" be a surprise, too).
He might could be the kindest boy you've ever met, but not in that gross "You're a really nice guy, but..." sort of a way. Yes, he gives the homeless guy outside the grocery store a dollar every time he sees him, but he's also sarcastic and smart and doesn't put up with a lot of your crap. So he's, like, hot nice. Oh, I can't wait for you to meet him.
You'll have a fun job, with interesting friends. And as the morning light shines into your kitchen, you'll make stuff like this. Oh, don't panic. This is as cook-y as you get. A lot has changed, but THAT hasn't. Come on.
Some days you'll have breakfast on your deck, and you'll hear baby birds in the birdhouse you put in the yard. You'll smell the mimosa trees, and hear the train in the distance, the same train that is .007 inches from The Nice Boy's house. Sometimes late at night you'll hear the train and smile, knowing The Nice Boy is hearing it too.
I know, 2003 June, that you're pretty happy, what with your cool 1940s apartment in a cool LA neighborhood. With your $300 haircuts and happy marriage. I know things are good. But I just wanted to let you know that 2013 June is pretty dang happy, too. You might say she's delirious.
See you in 10 years. And I mean it about the bedazzled phone. And Peg's gazpacho.
Love, June
